THE 

SUCCESS 


OF 


FAILURE. 

By  a  Wayfarer 


SIFT 


THE 

SUCCESS  OF  FAILURE 

By  a  Wayfarer 


TAPMAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 

3  3 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
TAPMAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


To  one  who  made  the  writing 
of  this  book  possible 


M12G302 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  UNBIDDEN  GUEST 7 

II     Two  DOCTORS  AND  A  NURSE     ...       36 

III  THE  DOCTORS  CALL  UPON  DOROTHY  .       49 

IV  DOROTHY,  THE  NEW  APPLICANT,  AND 

A  CALL  FROM  MRS.  GORDON        .     .       59 

V    FRANK    INSTALLED    IN    THE    "HOME- 
LIVING  PLACE" 73 

VI    DOCTOR  Ross  AND  DOROTHY  Go  FOR 

THEIR  RIDE 85 

VII     MRS.    ARCHER    RECOGNIZES    AN    OLD 

FRIEND         103 

VIII    AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCESHIP  RENEWED     118 

IX     FRANK  KEEPS  His  APPOINTMENT  WITH 

THE  DOCTOR 129 

X     MRS.  GORDON'S  DISCOVERY         .      .      .     135 

XI     MRS.     ARCHER     BECOMES     HANNAH 

THOMPSON         145 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XII     FRANK'S  INDISPOSITION  AND  A  TELE 
PHONE  CALL  FROM  MRS.  GORDON     .     153 

XIII  MRS.  THOMPSON  VISITS  HER  DAUGHTER    160 

XIV  A    TALK    WITH    DOROTHY    AND    THE 

SELECTION  OF  ROADS 177 

XV     FRANK  ENTERS  THE  HOSPITAL  OF  THE 

NEW  BIRTH 193 

XVI     DOCTOR  Ross  KEEPS  His  APPOINTMENT 

WITH  DOROTHY 204 

XVII     DOROTHY     BIDS     DOCTOR    AND     MRS. 

GORDON  FAREWELL 217 

XVIII    THE  MARRIAGE 236 

XIX    HANNAH    LEARNS   OF    THE    DOCTOR'S 

MARRIAGE 249 

XX    MRS.  THOMPSON  GETS  A  GLIMPSE  OF 

THE  "HOME-LIVING  PLACE"        .      .     266 

XXI     FRANK,  RESTORED  TO  HEALTH,  LEAVES 

THE  HOSPITAL  OF  THE  NEW  BIRTH     280 

XXII     FRANK  AGAIN  VISITS  THE  SHACK      .     291 


The  Success  of  Failure 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

IN  addition  to  the  driving  wind  and  the  density  of  the 
night,  a  heavy  rain  was  falling  when  the  last  train 
for  the  day  pulled  into  the  little  station  of  Peterstown. 
Its  only  passenger,  a  man,  alighted  and  made  his  way 
to  where  the  station-agent  was  standing  upon  the 
platform,  and  immediately  inquired  of  him  where  he 
could  secure  a  conveyance  to  take  him  out  to  his  shack, 
a  distance  of  about  three  miles. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  informed  the  agent,  "but  I  don't 
know  of  anyone  who  would  be  willing  to  hitch  up  and 
drive  you  out  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

"Then,  I  shall  have  to  walk,"  said  the  man,  and  he 
raised  his  hands  and  adjusted  the  collar  of  his  coat 
more  securely  about  his  neck. 

"Why  not  put  up  at  the  hotel  for  the  night?"  sug 
gested  the  agent.  "You  will  find  little  trouble  in  get 
ting  someone  to  drive  you  out  in  the  morning." 

7 


8  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  man,  stooping  over  to  turn 
up  his  trousers  at  each  ankle,  "but  I  am  determined  to 
reach  there  tonight." 

"We  have  had  considerable  rain  and  the  roads,  I 
hear,  are  far  from  good.  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to 
try  it,"  and  the  agent  shook  his  head  dissuasively,  "for 
it  wouldn't  be  any  fun  losing  the  road  a  night  like 
this." 

"I  can  quite  believe  it.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  make 
the  attempt,"  and  wishing  the  agent  goodnight  the  man 
walked  off  into  the  darkness  and  lonesomeness  of  a 
country  road. 

When  visiting  the  shack  he  rarely  ever  used  the  sta 
tion  of  Peterstown,  but  got  off  at  Woodside,  a  station 
two  miles  the  opposite  direction  and  a  mile  nearer  the 
shack,  and  his  only  reason  tonight  for  continuing  on  to 
Peterstown  was  to  avoid  the  possible  meeting  of 
friends.  However,  he  was  sure  he  would  have  little 
trouble  in  keeping  to  the  road,  which,  if  he  remembered 
rightly,  after  turning  the  corner,  was  straight  and  level 
for,  perhaps,  a  mile,  when  it  turned  to  the  left  and  led 
over  two  long,  steep  hills,  and  then  went  off  to  the  right 
into  the  woods.  This  part  of  the  road,  he  recalled,  was 
rough  and  little  used  excepting  by  those  wishing  to 
shorten  their  journey  by  a  mile  to  the  next  town. 

After  an  hour  of  stumbling  and  groping  in  the  dark, 
he  turned  in  at  what  was  called  the  Woods'  Road,  and 


The  Unbidden  Guest  9 

an  additional  five  minutes'  walk  brought  him  to  the  gate 
of  the  little  pathway  leading  to  the  shack,  or  roughly 
built  bungalow.  Very  tired  from  striving  with  the  wind 
and  wet  from  the  heavy  rain,  he  pushed  open  the  gate 
and  walked  up  the  path  and  unlocked  the  door.  Enter 
ing,  he  stood  motionless  for  a  number  of  seconds  before 
striking  a  match,  then  carrying  it  he  felt  his  way  over 
to  the  mantel-piece  on  the  side  of  the  room  opposite 
the  door,  where  he  found  a  candle-stick,  in  which  was 
a  small  piece  of  candle.  This  he  lit,  and  then  walked 
back  and  closed  the  door. 

The  dim  light  disclosed  a  large  room,  in  which  could 
gradually  be  discerned  a  table  in  the  center,  a  couch  on 
the  side  away  from  the  door  to  the  left,  a  book-case  to 
the  right  and  under  the  mantel-piece  a  large  fire-place, 
in  which  were  laid  logs  of  wood  ready  for  lighting.  On 
one  side  of  the  fire-place  was  a  large  arm-chair  and  on 
the  other  side  a  small  rocking-chair.  Standing  near 
the  door  was  a  hat-rack,  upon  which  our  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Franklin  Thompson,  hung  his  hat  and  coat.  The 
room  was  evidently  one  which  served  two  purposes, 
that  of  living-room  and  hall. 

Franklin  Thompson,  or  Frank,  as  we  shall  call  him, 
after  hanging  up  his  hat  and  coat,  drew  a  chair, 
hitherto  not  visible,  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  room 
and  placed  it  by  the  table.  He  seated  himself  upon  it 
and  took  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  a  small 


io  The  Success  of  Failure 

bottle  which  he  stood  upon  the  table.  Regarding  it  in 
tently,  he  said: 

"This  is  a  time  when  I  shall  not  fail.  There  will  be 
no  more  tomorrows  to  follow  the  nights,  no  more 
guessing,  no  more  hoping  and  no  more  failing.  This 
time  I  shall  succeed." 

Fifteen  years  ago  he  had  promised  himself  this  same 
thing — that  he  should  not  fail.  Here,  in  this  room  of 
the  little  shack,  he  had  said,  and  he  had  meant  to  do 
what  he  said,  that  he  should  succeed.  If  success  was 
to  be  attained  by  hard  work,  honesty  and  truthfulness, 
he  had  stated  emphatically  that  it  should  be  his.  And 
now  he  had  come  back  to  the  old  surroundings,  to  the 
home  of  his  youth,  a  failure. 

His  gaze  leaves  the  bottle  and  travels  slowly  and 
rests  lingeringly  upon  the  different  objects  of  the  nearly 
dark  room.  It  then  comes  back  to  his  folded  arms 
resting  upon  the  table,  and  his  head  slowly — very 
slowly — droops  until  it  reaches  the  folded  arms,  and 
there  remains  while  his  thoughts  go  back  over  the  past 
years.  He  is  thinking  of  the  disappointments,  his 
many  efforts  and  resultant  failures,  of  the  battles  he 
has  fought  and  lost.  Could  he  have  exchanged  for  the 
practices  of  the  world  the  principles  underlying  right 
living  which  he  had  learned  here,  he  would  have  suc 
ceeded.  But,  somehow,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
sell  his  manhood  for  a  mess  of  pottage.  For  him  to 


The  Unbidden  Guest  n 

attain  success,  other  than  by  worthy  means,  was  out  of 
the  question,  and  to  have  accepted  it  at  any  other  price 
would  have  meant  failure,  although  of  a  different  kind, 
he  well  knew. 

How  very  tired,  how  thoroughly  wearied  he  is  of 
this  walking  in  the  dark  these  many  years !  The  one 
thing  now  he  desires  most  is  rest;  to  get  away  from 
Life's  continual  questioning,  to  go  to  sleep  and  never 
wake,  to  be  able  to  forget  and  to  be  forgotten.  No 
longer  does  he  wish  for  another  existence,  and  he  cares 
nothing  for  its  rewards  nor  its  punishments. 

So  wholly  absorbed  in  painful  recollection  is  he,  that 
he  hears  not  a  gentle  and  persistent  knocking,  nor  is 
he  aroused  by  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  door,  and 
is  totally  oblivious  to  the  sound  of  a  woman's  tired  and 
faltering  step  and  the  trailing  of  her  rain-soaked  gar 
ments  as  she  crosses  the  room.  She  is  hatless  and 
coatless  and  her  hair,  in  wet  disorder,  hangs  over  her 
shoulders,  and  in  the  dim  candle  light  her  face  looks 
wan  and  worn.  At  the  sight  of  the  man,  seated  beside 
the  table,  a  sigh  of  relief  and  satisfaction  escapes  her, 
and  sitting  down  upon  the  couch  she  watches  intently 
the  motionless  figure  upon  the  chair. 

The  candle  is  slowly  burning  out,  and  not  a  sound  is 
heard,  save  for  the  rain  pattering  on  the  roof  and 
the  swishing  of  the  rain-bathed  branches  of  the  trees 
outside. 


12  The  Success  of  Failure 

An  hour,  or  more,  has  passed,  and  she  is  still  watch 
ing.  Then,  with  a  groan,  he  raises  his  head  and  puts 
out  his  hand  for  the  bottle.  His  fingers  close  upon  it 
and  he  proceeds  to  draw  out  the  cork,  still  unmindful 
of  the  silent  figure  which  now  rises  and  moves  quietly 
to  his  side.  He  raises  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  in  a 
few  moments  what  he  has  come  here  to  do  will  have 
been  done ;  but  as  he  is  about  to  pour  its  contents  into 
his  mouth,  over  his  hand  is  laid  that  of  his  unknown 
and  unbidden  guest,  and  with  authority  she  draws  it 
down  until  his  arm  rests  with  the  other  upon  the  table, 
and  the  vial,  released  from  the  now  trembling  fingers, 
falls  to  the  ground,  spilling  its  contents. 

The  flickering  candle  sputters  and  goes  out.  It  is 
the  hour  before  dawn  and  all  is  in  darkness.  The  rain 
has  ceased,  and  all  that  can  be  heard  is  the  sighing  of 
the  wind  through  the  trees. 

Surprised,  and  not  a  little  alarmed,  by  this  interfer 
ence,  Frank  straightens  up  and  peers  into  the  blackness 
of  the  room,  fully  alive  to  the  fact  that  he  is  not  alone. 
Someone  is  here,  but  who?  He  is  riot  by  any  means  a 
coward,  yet  he  is  totally  unable  to  control  the  trembling 
of  his  body.  He  is  shaking  from  head  to  foot  and  is 
wholly  incapable  of  commanding  his  voice.  After  mak 
ing  many  vain  attempts  to  speak,  he  is  much  relieved 
when  the  voice  of  the  woman,  low-toned  and  sweet, 
breaks  the  silence,  and  she  says : 


The  Unbidden  Guest  13 

"You  are  greatly  agitated;  be  quiet  and  do  not  try 
to  talk.  As  briefly  as  possible  I  will  explain  my  pres 
ence  here.  An  important  errand  called  me  out  tonight 
and  I  was  caught  in  the  storm.  From  the  road  I  saw 
the  feeble  light  of  the  candle  shining  through  the  win 
dow  and,  being  unable  to  proceed  further,  I  turned  into 
the  path  leading  to  the  door,  upon  which  I  knocked 
many  times  but  received  no  answer.  Encouraged  by 
the  silence  within  I  opened  the  door  and  entered." 

When  she  had  finished  speaking,  Frank  with  a  long, 
shuddering  sigh  settled  back  in  his  chair  without  utter 
ing  a  word.  Was  he  sorry,  he  questioned,  that  he  had 
been  prevented  from  carrying  out  the  purpose  of  his 
visit  to  the  shack?  He  did  not  know.  Was  he  glad? 
He  did  not  know.  That  he  was  still  here,  when  he  ex 
pected  to  be  he  knew  not  where,  was  evident.  He 
shivered,  and  for  the  first  time  that  night  he  began  to 
feel  the  cold  dampness  of  the  room  .  My,  but  he  was 
cold!  Then  he  remembered  his  unbidden  guest;  she 
must  be  cold,  also,  for  her  clothes,  like  his,  were  rain- 
soaked. 

Turning  his  head  in  the  direction  from  which  her 
voice  had  come,  he  said  unsteadily : 

"You,  I  am  sure,  must  be  suffering  from  the  cold 
and  dampness  of  the  night." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  shivering,  "I  am  cold." 

Without  saying  another  word,  Frank  stretched  out 


14  The  Success  of  Failure 

a  much  bestiffened  leg  and  put  his  hand  in  a  pocket  of 
his  trousers  and  brought  out  a  box  of  matches.  Strik 
ing  one  upon  its  side,  he  rose  shakily  to  his  feet  and 
walking  slowly  carried  it  carefully  over  to  the  fire 
place  and  applied  it  to  the  paper  and  loose  bark  that 
was  under  the  wood.  A  bright  blaze  which  lit  up  the 
room  was  the  result,  and  he  saw,  seated  upon  the  couch, 
a  young  woman  about  whose  age  one  could  not  be 
certain.  The  face  which  she  turned  up  to  him  was 
ghastly  pale  and  infinitely  sad.  Her  dress  was  wet,  the 
bottom  of  her  skirt  lying  in  thick,  heavy  damp  folds 
about  her  feet. 

He  turned  away  and  walked  over  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  The  storm  was  over  and  the  morning 
light  of  another  day  was  breaking  through  the  clouds. 
The  night  had  passed  and  the  day  from  asleep  was 
awakening.  He  stood  there  looking  out,  and  a  war  of 
conflicting  emotions  raged  within  him.  Something 
greater  and  stronger  than  he  had  hitherto  known  was 
slowly  possessing  him.  It  struggled  and  gasped, 
gasped  and  struggled,  as  it  fought  for  supremacy.  On 
and  on,  as  the  minutes  passed,  it  strove,  beating  back 
and  crushing  out  all  resisting  forces.  It  won.  He  no 
longer  resisted ;  he  submitted.  As  the  strife  ceased,  he 
leaned  his  head  wearily  against  the  window  frame,  and 
there  stole  over  him  a  commanding  silence,  bidding 
him  be  still,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  rested. 


The  Unbidden  Guest  15 

Then  there  rose  up  within  him  a  great  longing  to  be 
and  to  do,  and  was  as  a  man  awakened  from  a  long, 
long  sleep,  refreshed  and  strengthened. 

It  was  daylight  when  Frank  raised  his  head  and 
again  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  sun  had  raised 
his  head  from  the  soft  pillow  of  gray  and  was  bathing 
the  sky  with  bright  rays  of  golden  red.  The  trees, 
unaffected  by  the  storm,  stood  as  proudly  erect  as  ever, 
and  the  earth,  clad  in  her  mantle  of  green,  looked 
marvelously  fresh  and  young.  Nature  was  singing  her 
morning  hymn  in  magnificent  silence. 

When  Frank  at  last  turned  away  from  the  window  he 
found  his  guest  of  the  night  standing  on  the  rug  before 
the  fire.  He  wondered  how  long  she  had  been  standing 
there.  Chiding  himself  for  his  remissness,  he  stepped 
quickly  over  to  the  hat-rack  and  from  behind  it  he 
drew  a  large  folded  reclining  chair.  This  he  opened 
and  placed  at  a  comfortable  distance  from  the  fire,  and 
said: 

"Won't  you  sit  down  here  and  rest?" 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  seating  herself  in  the  chair. 

Picking  up  the  poker  Frank  stirred  up  the  burning 
logs  of  wood  and  then  went  out  through  a  door  which 
led  into  the  kitchen,  returning  shortly  carrying  in  his 
arms  more  logs.  Three  he  placed  upon  the  fire  and 
the  remaining  two  he  laid  upon  the  rug. 

After  replenishing  the  fire,  Frank  turned  to  his  guest 


1 6  The  Success  of  Failure 

and  was  about  to  ask  her  if  she  found  the  chair  com 
fortable  and  if  she  felt  at  all  rested,  when,  to  his  sur 
prise,  he  found  she  had  fallen  asleep.  It  was  now  his 
turn  to  watch.  Who  could  she  be?  he  queried  as  he 
sat  down  in  the  arm-chair  a  short  distance  away.  What 
errand  could  have  taken  her  out  so  late  at  night  in  the 
storm  ? 

As  he  sat  there,  his  eyes  travelled  over  her  face  and 
noted  the  broad,  white  forehead,  from  which  the  hair 
in  a  damp,  dark  mass  fell  back,  the  prettily  curved 
eye-brows,  the  closed  lids,  the  well-shaped  nose, 
the  mouth  which  was  neither  small  nor  large,  and  the 
firmly  rounded  chin.  As  she  slept  the  lines  of  care 
left  her  face  and  into  its  paleness  there  crept  a  faint 
pink. 

The  sun  had  been  up  an  hour  and  was  pouring  his 
warm  rays  through  the  window  when  she  awoke. 
Frank  had  not  stirred  from  his  seat  at  the  corner  of 
the  fire-place.  Sitting  up  she  regarded  him  out  of  a 
pair  of  dark-brown  eyes  with  a  look  of  mournful  in 
terrogation,  and  asked : 

"How  long  have  I  been  asleep?" 

"About  an  hour,"  answered  Frank,  looking  at  his 
watch  as  he  rose  from  his  chair.  "It  is  now  six 
o'clock." 

"It  is  late,"  she  said,  "and  my  work  is  not  yet  done." 

"She  stood  up  and  her  hair,  with  which  the  wind 


The  Unbidden  Guest  17 

and  rain  had  played  havoc,  fell  down  her  back  in  a 
tangled  heap  to  her  waist,  and  the  pins  which  had  held 
it  to  her  head  slipped  out  upon  the  floor.  Stooping 
down  she  picked  them  up  and  with  her  hands 
smoothed  out  her  hair,  and  coiling  it  pinned  it  securely 
to  her  head.  Then  looking  out  of  the  window,  she 
remarked : 

"\Yhat  a  difference  the  condition  of  the  weather 
makes  in  our  appreciation  of  the  outside  world.  Last 
night,  we,  anxious  to  escape  from  the  howling,  driving 
wind  and  the  pouring  rain,  thought  only  of  a  place  of 
shelter.  This  morning,  the  sky  is  clear  and  the  earth 
is  basking  in  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun.  The  storm  is 
forgotten  and  nature  is  aglee." 

"That  is  true  of  the  country,  I  think,"  replied  Frank, 
resuming  his  seat,  "but  in  the  large  cities  with  their 
many  conveniences  I  am  not  so  sure  that  it  really 
makes  so  much  difference.  By  that,  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  a  clear  sky  is-  not  preferable  to  clouds  nor  that 
one  would  not  choose,  if  he  could,  fair  instead  of  foul 
weather.  But — take  transportation,  for  instance — there 
are  so  many  ways  of  being  conveyed  about  a  large  city. 
For  the  wealthy  and  the  not  so  wealthy  there  are  the 
automobiles.  For  the  ordinary  working-class  there  are 
the  subways,  the  elevated,  surface  cars  and  bus  lines. 
So  you  see.  in  that  way.  the  state  of  the  weather  does 
not  materially  affect  city  people." 


1 8  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Why  do  you  say  'the  ordinary  working-class'  ?"  she 
asked,  regarding  Frank  curiously.  "I  have  been  taught 
to  regard  all  human  beings  as  extraordinary." 

"Evidently  the  knowledge  imparted  to  you  by  your 
teachers  was  not  acquired  in  a  large  city  with  an  ex 
cess  population  of  working  people,"  said  Frank,  laugh 
ing,  "or  you  would  readily  understand  why  I  use  that 
phrase." 

"What  makes  them  ordinary?"  she  asked,  sitting 
down  in  her  chair. 

•"Well,  I  don't  know,  but  I  suppose  one  would  say 
their  position  in  life." 

Slowly  raising  her  eyes  she  regarded  him  wonder- 
ingly,  and  said : 

"Life  is  an  unbidden  guest  and  knows  no  degree, 
and  with  it  is  endowed  every  member  of  the  human 
family.  Its  source  may  only  be  found  in  the  Greater 
Life.  How  then  can  members  belonging  to  that  family 
have  different  positions  in  life  ?  There  is  only  the  one." 

"They  have,  just  the  same,"  stubbornly  replied 
Frank.  "And  bitter  is  the  war  waged  between  indi 
viduals  for  those  positions." 

"Is  not  that  a  singular  situation,  the  righting  of 
humanity  against  itself?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 

"Humanity  does  not  regard  it  as  such." 

•"Is  the  result  of  the  warfare  satisfactory?" 

"Taking  it  as  a  whole,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  it  is  not. 


The  Unbidden  Guest  19 

The  weak  are  forced  to  give  place  to  the  strong,  drop 
ping  out,  one  by  one,  from  the  ranks,  and  little,  if  any 
thing,  is  known  of  them  thereafter.  The  strong  who 
take  their  place  in  time  become  weak  and  are,  in  turn, 
replaced  by  others  more  vigorous.  And  so  it  goes  on, 
this  ever  endless  strife  between  the  weak  and  the 
strong." 

"It  is  a  case  of  the  'house  divided  against  itself/  is 
it  not?" 

"If  you  mean  that  man  is  arrayed  against  man/'  re 
plied  Frank  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "it  certainly 
is,  although  I  have  never  thought  of  it  in  just  that 
way." 

"Then  to  prevent  the  downfall  of  the  house,  the 
cause  for  the  now  existing  divisions  must  be  removed 
and  the  cementation  of  the  true  interests  of  man  take 
place.  That  is,  to  secure  his  own  good  man  must  look 
to  the  good  of  his  brother-man." 

"You  have  little  knowledge  of  the  world/'  said 
Frank  with  an  indulgent  smile,  "or  you  would  know 
that  there  man  secures  his  own  good  at  the  expense 
of  that  of  his  brother-man.  Some  man  always  pays 
the  price." 

"Such  knowledge  is  worthless,  for  it  is  not  possible 
for  man  to  sow  evil  and  reap  good  nor  to  sow  good  and 
reap  evil  nor  to  take  that  for  which  no  adequate  return 
can  be  given." 


2O  The  Success  of  Failure 

"By  that  you  mean  man  must  pay  with  good  for 
any  good  he  gets." 

"I  do/'  she  replied  emphatically. 

"I  am  afraid  the  men  and  women  of  the  worid  with 
whom  I  am  acquainted  would  not  agree  with  you,"  re 
plied  Frank  laughing. 

"That  would  not  be  wonderful,  would  it?"  asked  she 
smiling.  "They  do  not  agree  with  themselves."  And 
getting  up  from  her  chair  she  walked  over  to  the  win 
dow  and  looked  out. 

Frank  laughed,  and  getting  to  his  feet  joined  her  at 
the  window. 

"The  perversion  of  humanity  is  remarkable,"  she 
continued.  "One  does  not  find  it  so  in  the  vege 
table  world.  Look  at  that  tree  with  its  bark-covered 
enormous  trunk  and  its  strong  spreading  branches 
decked  with  their  beautiful  green  leaves.  See  how 
erectly  it  stands  as  though  health  and  strength  were 
to  be  its  heritage  for  years  and  years  to  come.  The 
elements  necessary  for  its  preservation  are  evidently 
working  in  harmony,  and  any  attack  must  come  from 
a  foreign  foe.  Supposing,  however,  one  of  the  ele 
ments  should  decide  that  it  needed  a  certain  proportion 
of  another  element  and  should  enter  into  conflict  for 
its  possession  and  it  should  succeed  in  separating  the 
component  part  and  attaching  it  to  itself,  it  would  only 
impoverish  the  other  element  and  lessen  its  possibili- 


The  Unbidden  Guest  21 

ties  and  add  to  itself  that  of  which  it  had  no  need  and 
which  would  eventually  perish  for  the  lack  of  the 
proper  environment  to  perform  its  pre-ordained  func 
tion.  At  first,  possibly,  the  absence  would  not  be  per 
ceptible,  but  as  time  went  on  the  constant  draining 
would  be  felt  by  the  remaining  elements  and  they  would 
gradually  become  incapacitated,  and  the  end  of  the 
tree  would  be  death.  So  it  must  be  with  the  social  tree 
of  man's  planting,  whose  roots  are  sunk  in  the  soil  of 
self  and  whose  elements  are  constantly  warring  against 
each  other." 

"You  are  not  so  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  doings 
as  I  thought,"  replied  Frank  with  a  smile. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  that  tree,"  she  answered 
sadly.  "Its  great  bare  trunk  is  o'erspread  with  scars 
and  its  gigantic  outstretched  limbs  touch  with  their 
shadows  many  lands.  The  branches  at  the  top  with 
their  ceaseless  tossing,  stirred  by  the  winds  from  the 
Land  of  More,  keep  those  underneath  constantly  mov 
ing  and  cause  the  fluttering  of  their  leaves  in  the  breeze 
from  the  Isle  of  Want.  Right  below  these  are  the 
branches  whose  leaves  are  blown  hither  and  thither  by 
a  gale  from  the  Ocean  of  Need,  and  hidden  beneath  are 
the  timid  and  frail  stems  with  their  tiny  blighted  leaves. 
Nearly  at  the  bottom  are  huge  limbs  covered  with 
leaves  turning  yellow,  vainly  struggling  against  the 
gusts  of  wind  from  the  River  of  Greed,  only  to  T^e 


22  The  Success  of  Failure 

carried  off,  again  and  again,  to  the  City  of  Nowhere. 
At  the  bottom  the  branches  are  withered  and  old  and 
reach  out  their  long  gaunt  arms  over  the  Province  of 
Death." 

"And  yet/'  said  Frank  thoughtfully,  "it  is  a  tree  in 
which,  rightly  or  wrongly,  the  interests  of  man  are  cen 
tered  and  his  life  is  sustained  by  its  fruits." 

"Are  its  fruits  satisfying?" 

"I  cannot  say  that  they  are  altogether  so,"  gloomily 
responded  Frank. 

"In  what  do  they  lack?" 

"Much.  They  fail  to  produce  unity  or  to  meet  the 
aspirations  of  man." 

"In  other  words,  their  life  sustaining  qualities  are 
those  of  discord  and  dissatisfaction." 

"That  is  the  result  of  my  experience  and  observa 
tion." 

The  face  which  she  turned  up  to  him  looked  wan  and 
gray  and  her  eyes  were  swimming  in  unshed  tears  as 
she  asked : 

"How  long  will  man  continue  to  partake  of  its 
fruits,  fruits  which  are  so  barren  of  good  and  which 
cannot  truly  benefit  anyone?" 

"You  are  tired.  Come  back  to  your  chair,"  said 
Frank  sympathetically,  turning  and  leading  the  way. 

"My  weariness  is  nothing  unusual,"  she  replied  as 
she  followed  him  and  sank  wearilv  down  into  her 


The  Unbidden  Guest'  23 

chair.  ''Indeed,  I  am  often  very,  very  weary,"  and 
sighing  she  leaned  her  head  back  and  gazed  sadly  into 
the  fire. 

Frank  turned  over  with  the  poker  what  remained 
in  the  grate  of  the  burning  logs  and  added  those  which 
were  lying  on  the  rug.  He  then  sat  down  in  the  rock 
ing-chair  at  the  corner  of  the  fire-place,  and  looking 
smilingly  at  her,  said  gently : 

"Why  worry  about  this  tree  which  has  existed  long 
before  our  entrance  upon  the  scene  of  its  activities  and 
which  will  continue  to  exist  long  after  we  have  ceased 
to  be  leaves  upon  its  branches,  for,  grieve  as  we  will 
and  labor  as  we  must,  we  cannot  change  it  nor  stop  its 
growth." 

'That  is  the  never-ceasing  monotonous  song  which 
the  leaves  sing  as  they  swing  backwards  and  forwards 
upon  its  branches,"  she  said  a  trifle  impatiently.  "-It 
is  a  dismal  song  and  one  in  which  all  of  its  notes 
disagree." 

"Why  weep,  then,  over  what  cannot  be  helped?" 
asked  Frank  smiling.  "We  cannot  remove  the  singers 
nor  alter  the  song." 

"But  is  that  true?"  she  asked,  sitting  upright  in  her 
chair.  "If  so,  it  would  indeed  be  foolish  to  sorrow 
over  that  that  admits  of  no  remedy.  But  is  it  not 
possible  for  man  to  live  without  lodging  in  its  branches, 
without  partaking  of  its  fruits  or  of  singing  its  song? 


24  The  Success  of  Failure 

Is  not  the  planting  of  his  own  tree  given  to  every  man  ? 
Does  not  the  decision  of  the  soil  in  which  it  shall  grow 
rest  with  him,  whether  it  -shall  be  that  of  service  or 
that  of  self  in  which  its  roots  shall  grow  and  spread 
out?  Can  he  not  decide  whether  his  tree  shall  be  hus 
banded  by  his  own  efforts  rather  than  by  those  of  an 
other  ?  Is  it  not  his  right  to  say  whether  its  branches 
shall  be  abiding  places,  and  the  fruit  growing  thereupon 
be  life  sustaining?" 

"You  are  an  idealist,  I  see,"  said  Frank,  with  an 
amused  smile.  "Such  conditions  as  you  portray  might 
be  possible  where  men  and  women  do  not  have  to  battle 
for  their  bread  and  butter;  but  down  here,  in  this 
world,  where  man  has  to  give  himself  that  his  body 
may  live,  it  is,  I  assure  you,  a  different  matter." 

"What  is  an  idealist?"  she  queried  perplexedly. 

"The  world's  definition  of  an  idealist  is,  I  think,"  said 
Frank  slowly,  "a  person  who  sees  life  as  it  should  be 
and  not  as  it  is." 

"That  seems  rather  contradictory,  does  it  not?  For 
if  a  physician  be  ignorant  of  a  disease  and  the  reason 
of  its  existence,  what  assurance  has  the  afflicted  patient 
that  his  prescriptions  will  be  remedial  ?" 

"The  world  has  many  just  such  physicians,  however, 
who,  without  a  proper  understanding  of  conditions, 
constantly  prescribe  remedies  whose  application  they 
believe  would  greatly  lessen,  if  not  wholly  remove,  the 


The  Unbidden  Guest  25 

innumerable  disorders  with  which  society  is  strug 
gling;  and  their  lack  of  efficacy  they  attribute  to  the 
fact  that  the  majority  of  people,  if  not  totally  negligent, 
do  not  altogether  depend  upon  their  rigid  application 
to  allay  their  ills,  but  prefer,  somewhat,  to  rely  upon 
home-made  remedies." 

"And  is  not  the  home-made  remedy  the  only  one  upon 
which  we  can  safely  rely  to  find  the  true  source  of 
health?"  she  asked.  "For  if  we  are  to  have  a  perfect 
We,  we  must  have  a  perfect  I." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Frank,  with  a  light  laugh,  "you 
are  not  only  an  idealist  but  an  individualist  as  well." 

"If  by  that  big  word  you  mean,"  she  replied  smiling, 
"that  good  and  bad  start  with  the  individual  but  can 
not  exist  at  the  same  time  and  the  effect  of  their  opera 
tions  is  decidedly  distinct  and  separate,  then  I  am  an 
individualist." 

"By  that  you  would  say,  I  suppose,"  said  Frank, 
taking  up  the  poker  and  turning  over  the  unburnt  side 
of  the  logs  until  they  rested  upon  the  burning  red 
coals,  society  is  no  stronger  than  its  weakest  member 
and  no  better  than  its  worst." 

"Society  is  a  unit  and  admits  of  no  classification. 
It  has  but  one  source,  one  gate  of  entrance  and  one  of 
departure.  But  enough  of  this  for  the  present :  I  must 
leave  you  shortly  and  my  message  is  to  you." 

"To  me !"  exclaimed  Frank,  much  surprised. 


26  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Yes,  to  you,"  she  replied  gently. 

"What  message  can  you  possibly  have  to  give  me  ?" 
he  asked  doubtingly.  "I  was  not  aware  that  any  of  my 
acquaintances  knew  of  my  intention  to  leave  the  city, 
nor  my  purpose  of  leaving." 

"It  was  not  known  to  an  acquaintance,"  she  said 
quietly;  "it  was  known  to  a  friend." 

"A  friend,"  repeated  he,  his  forehead  drawing  to 
gether  in  puzzled  lines.  "You  are  surely  mistaken,  for 
I  can  assure  you  there  is  no  one  to  whom  my  coming 
and  going  would  be  of  interest  nor  to  whom  my  liv 
ing  or  dying  would  make  a  difference.  The  only  per 
son  who  would  have  cared  is  gone,  and  her  body  lies 
out  there  in  the  woods  and  rests  amidst  the  wild 
flowers  which  she  loved.  That  one  was  my  mother. 
She  and  I  made  this  little  shack  our  home  for  many 
years,  and  when  she  died  and  went  away  I  found  the 
little  place  too  lonesome,  so  I  went  into  the  city  and 
engaged  apartments.  However,  it  was  lonely  there, 
too,  for  acquaintances  one  might  make,  but  friends, 
never." 

"I  know,"  she  replied  sympathetically.  "Neverthe 
less,  the  author  of  the  message  which  I  bring  you  is 
a  friend." 

"His  name?" 

"The  message  I  may  give  you,  but  the  name  of  the 


The  Unbidden  Guest  27 

sender  the  coming  years  of  your  life  upon  earth  must 
disclose,"  she  replied. 

"What  is  the  message,  then?" 

"This  is  the  message,"  she  replied,  and  slowly  re 
cited  the  following  lines : 

"Success  is  the  heritage  of  every  man  and  awaits 
him  who  rightly  seeks.  But  why  seek  to  pluck  its  fair 
flowers  in  groves  where  only  the  weeds  of  failure  grow, 
which  appear  from  a  distance  so  beautiful  in  their 
rosy-hue  and  so  greatly  to  be  desired,  but  which,  upon 
possession,  stain  with  their  redness  all  that  they  touch. 
Their  leaves  are  full  of  holes,  through  which  filter  tiny 
streams  of  human  tears,  and  at  their  roots  lie  the  de 
cayed  hopes  and  aspirations  of  man." 

Frank,  much  perplexed,  listened  attentively  to  the 
recital  of  the  message.  At  its  completion,  he  said : 

"What  is  its  meaning  and  in  what  way  does  it  apply 
to  me?" 

"Its  meaning  is,  I  should  say,"  she  replied,  "one 
should  not  seek  to  purchase  with  the  world's  coinage 
that  which  it  cannot  buy " 

"Would  you  have  me  infer,"  indignantly  interrupted 
Frank,  "that  I  was  other  than  honest  and  truthful  in 
my  efforts  to  attain  success?  Had  I  been  so,  the 
failures  and  disappointments  would  have  hurt  me  less. 


28  The  Success  of  Failure 

It  was  because  of  my  inability  to  reconcile  conditions 
that  I  lost  hope  and  love  of  life.  I  could  not  under 
stand  why  fifteen  years  of  patient,  honest  effort  should 
result  in  fifteen  years  of  fruitless  effort ;  that  I  should 
not  be  materially  any  better  off  in  the  end  of  that  time 
than  I  was  in  the  beginning,  and  that  for  my  labor  I 
had  nothing  to  show  but  a  pair  of  well-worn,  empty 
.hands.  The  uselessness  of  the  struggle  oppressed 
me,  and  I  decided  to  open  the  door  and  go  out.  I 
had  no  desire  for  a  future  existence  and  longed  for 
annihilation." 

"Nor  to  proffer,"  continued  she,  "in  exchange  for 
world-called  success,  a  coinage  which  the  world  is  slow 
to  recognize  and  fails  to  make  its  own." 

"That  sounds  remarkably  well,"  impatiently  replied 
Frank,  "but  is  not  to  succeed  the  ambition  of  every 
normal  man?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  strange  smile.  "But 
man,  as  the  world  knows  him,  is  not  normal.  He  is 
abnormal,  and  all  that  he  does  must  partake  of  that 
abnormality,  which  accounts  for  the  bewildering  fact 
that  he  ascribes  his  abnormality  to  the  abnormalities  of 
conditions,  when  just  the  opposite  is  the  truth.  No 
words  prescribe  a  remedy  more  fully  than  these:  'Ye 
must  be  born  again/  " 

As  she  quoted  the  last  five  words,  Frank,  somewhat 
irritated  and  thoroughly  mystified,  rose  from  his  chair 


The  Unbidden  Guest  29 

and  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  looked  out. 
Standing  there  in  the  doorway  with  the  cool  breeze 
blowing  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead,  he  mentally 
explored  every  rememberable  nook  and  cranny  of  his 
past  to  locate,  if  possible,  some  incident  which  would 
enlighten  the  present  situation.  That  he  had  never 
heretofore  met  this  woman,  to  whose  interfering  hand 
he  owed  his  life,  he  was  positive.  Why  was  she  here 
and  from  whom  had  she  obtained  the  information  of 
his  morbid  intention  upon  his  arrival  at  the  shack? 
Why  had  she  brought  to  him  such  a  message,  the  pur 
port  of  which  he  could  not  perceive  ?  Try  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  recall  a  single  instance  which,  in  any  way, 
could  account  for  her  presence.  Baffled,  he  abandoned 
the  search,  trusting  that  she,  voluntarily  or  inadver 
tently,  would  disclose  her  identity  and  explain  away  the 
disquieting  circumstances.  Turning,  he  came  in  and 
closed  the  door  and  again  took  his  seat  in  the  rocking- 
chair.  She  was  lying  quietly  back  in  her  chair  gazing 
dreamily  into  the  fire,  and  evidently  her  thoughts  were 
far  away,  for  neither  by  word  nor  sign  did  she  intimate 
she  was  aware  of  his  presence  as  he  sat  down.  Not  a 
sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  room  for  several 
minutes,  then,  with  a  gentle  sigh,  she  straightened  up 
and  regarded  him  inquiringly. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  she  smilingly  asked. 

"I  am  thinking  of  you,"  he  replied  moodily. 


30  The  Success  of  Failure 

''Thinking  of  me,"  she  repeated.  "So,  at  last,  you 
are  thinking  of  me." 

"Yes,  I  am  thinking  of  you.  I  am  wondering 
who  you  are,  where  you  came  from  and  why  you  are 
here." 

"I  regret  the  only  explanation  I  am  able  to  give  of 
myself,  instead  of  lessening,  would  greatly  increase 
your  wonderment,"  she  said  musingly.  "However,  I 
am  glad  to  know  that  the  who,  where  and  why  of  my 
existence  is  to  you  no  longer  a  matter  of  indifference." 
"Tell  me,  anyway,"  he  pleaded. 
"A  friend  to  everybody,  am  I,"  she  replied  gravely, 
"and  my  dwelling-place  is  everywhere.  To  me  is  given 
the  opening  and  the  closing  of  the  door  to  which  all 
come,  early  or  late,  who  have  sought  to  learn  spiritual 
truths  at  a  material  school." 

Frank  responded  with  a  helpless  shake  of  his  head 
and  sigh  of  incomprehension. 

"The  crossing  of  the  threshold  of  this  door  by  man's 
own  hand  is  an  uncertain  venture,"  continued  she. 
"Man  may  force  life  out  of  his  body,  but  that  does 
not  mean  he  will  be  relieved  from  responsibility ;  does 
not  assure  him  of  any  better  conditions ;  does  not  guar 
antee  freedom  from  his  troubles,  nor  the  cessation  of 
the  agonizing  memories  of  his  mind.  He  may  destroy 
the  temple,  but  the  intelligent  control  is  independent 
of  temples.  Whence  it  comes  and  whither  it  goes  no 


The  Unbidden  Guest  31 

man  can  tell.  He  knows  it  exists,  and  he  exists  because 
of  it.  Of  the  forces  that  are  at  work  in  the  world  to 
which  he  would,  when  life  here  becomes  to  him  intoler 
able,  so  recklessly  and  ignorantly  thrust  himself,  he 
has  no  knowledge.  He  has  no  proof  that  he  shall  be 
immune  from  suffering,  nor  that  the  taking-off  of  one 
dress  may  not  mean  the  putting-on  of  another,  and  that 
the  getting  rid  of  the  self  he  took  with  him  may  not 
be  a  more  difficult  task  than  he  believed." 

"What,  then,  is  man  to  do  with  this  life,  this  inde 
structible  thing  with  which  he  is  endowed?"  asked 
Frank  despairingly.  "Is  he  always  to  be  a  thing  of 
burdens  and  strife  ?  Is  he  never  to  know,  in  the  course 
of  his  day,  the  where  of  his  being  and  the  why  of  his 
way?" 

"Man  is  slow  to  learn  the  purpose  of  life,"  she  re 
plied  with  a  sad  shake  of  her  head.  "He  has  made  of 
it  an  intricate  problem,  and  one  which  he  is  unable  to 
solve." 

"And  is  it  not,  too,  an  intricate  problem  to  you  ?" 

"Life,  to  me,  is  a  wonderful  thing,  with  its  story  un 
told.  It  is  the  one  thing  which  cannot  be  bought  nor 
cannot  be  sold,  and  is  to  every  man  a  gift  so  precious, 
could  he  but  learn  its  truths  and  know  its  purpose." 

"Life,  if  not  a  curse,  is  considered  everything  else 
but  a  precious  gift  by  a  great  many  people,"  gloomily 
-responded  Frank;  "for  well  do  they  know  what  its 


32  The  Success  of  Failure 

meaning  shall  be  to  them  in  their  declining  days,  should 
they  live ;  and  that  is  an  inability  to  work  and  a  dreaded 
poverty-stricken  old  age.  In  large  cities  such  instances 
are  not  rare,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  people  should 
regard  life  as  a  regrettable  thing,  something  with  which 
they  would  have  dispensed  had  they  been  consulted, 
when  they  are  so  frequently  confronted  with  the  real 
istic  and  ever  depressing  pictures  of  aged  men  and 
women,  whose  years  of  labor  have  left  them  naught 
but  a  quavering  voice,  trembling  hands  and  an  uncer 
tain  step,  eating  the  bread  of  charity.  As  they  view  the 
pictures,  they  are  painfully  aware  that  only  a  few 
short  years  stand  between  them  and  frames  from  which 
their  faces  may  look  out;  for,  labor  as  they  will  and 
deprive  themselves  of  the  present  necessities  as  they 
feel  they  must  to  provide  for  future  demands,  the  fruit 
of  their  labor,  at  times,  barely  suffices  to  meet  their 
daily  needs.  Indeed,  they  feel  they  are  paying  a  big 
price  for  the  privilege  of  living." 

"The  world,  I  see,  has  no  use  for  the  falling  leaves," 
she  said,  "and  endeavors  to  forget  they  were  once  the 
buds  of  spring.  Their  beauty  being  gone  and  their 
usefulness  at  an  end,  they  are  permitted  to  lie  where 
they  have  fallen  and  to  be  trodden  under  foot,  or,  if  the 
cool  winds  of  autumn  do  not  bear  them  to  a  kindlier 
country,  they  are  raked  up  into  a  pile  and  forgotten." 

"That  is  the  situation,  exactly." 


The  Unbidden  Guest  33 

''And  what  has  life  meant  to  you  ?"  she  asked  smiling. 

"Life,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  doleful  shake  of  his 
head,  "has  meant  but  one  thing  to  me." 

"And  what  was  that  one  thing?" 

"An  everlasting  struggle  to  get  nowhere." 

4'When  you  started  out,  you  meant  to  get  somewhere 
and  be  somebody,  didn't  you?"  asked  she,  regarding 
Frank  with  her  big  brown  eyes. 

"I  meant  to  succeed." 

"And  you  did  not?" 

"No,"  grimly  acknowledged  Frank,  "I  failed." 

"Why  did  you  fail?  Was  it  the  result  of  the 
seeking?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  replied  Frank,  los 
ing  his  temper  as  he  always  did  when  he  thought  his 
business  integrity  was  questioned.  "I  sought  earnestly, 
honestly  and  faithfully  to  succeed,  and  there,  I  can 
assure  you,  were  no  questionable  methods  in  my 
seeking." 

"Every  life  has  its  own  shadow  and  reflects  what 
it  seeks,"  she  replied.  "The  conditions  under  which 
man  labors  are  the  products  of  his  own  seeking.  He  is 
forever  striving  for  the  shadow  when  he  might  have 
the  substance.  Things  of  account  he  deems  of  no- 
account,  and  at  the  feet  of  those  of  no-account  he  lays 
the  best  the  world  has  to  give,  himself.  To  his  dead 
gods  he  sacrifices  himself  daily." 


34  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  must  say/'  impatiently  replied  Frank,  "it  is  all 
beyond  me." 

"It  is  so  now  and  it  has  been  so  in  the  past,  but  in 
the  future  it  shall  not  be  so/'  she  replied,  and  her  voice 
rang  with  authority,  which  immediately  silenced  Frank 
and  claimed  his  attention.  "You  are/'  she  went  on, 
"to  learn  of  me.  I  shall  teach  you  to  know  the  things 
that  are  from  the  things  that  are  not  and  to  discern 
the  riches  that  lie  in  poverty  and  the  poverty  that  lies 
in  riches.  Through  me  you  shall  sift  the  chaff  of 
seeming  until  you  find  the  grain  of  meaning.  No  more 
will  the  thought  of  self-destruction  possess  you,  for 
you  will  know  that  life  to  you  is  a  precious  gift,  some 
thing  neither  to  be  abused  nor  to  be  abased,  but  to  be 
understood.  Your  residence,  choice  and  place  of  labor 
you  may  select,  but  from  me  you  are  to  learn  all  the 
lessons  of  life." 

She  finished  speaking  and  rose  from  her  chair. 
Frank  sat  staring  at  her  in  speechless  amazement,  and 
it  was  not  until  her  hand  was  laid  upon  the  handle  of 
the  door  leading  to  the  little  path  which  led  to  the  road 
that  he  found  his  voice  sufficiently  to  stammer  out : 

"It—is— incredible " 

"You  think  so  now,"  interrupted  she,  "but  as  the 
years  go  by  your  present  belief  will  not  only  become 
incredible,  but  an  impossibility." 

She  opened  the  door  and   stood  in  the  doorway. 


The  Unbidden  Guest  35 

Frank  joined  her  and  for  several  seconds  they  silently 
looked  off  into  the  wooded  distance.  She  was  the  first 
to  speak,  and  said  hurriedly : 

"I  must  not  remain  longer,  for  I  am  needed  else 
where." 

She  stepped  down  into  the  little  path  and  had  reached 
the  road  before  Frank  recalled  she  had  not  told  him 
her  name.  Hastening  after  her,  he  said : 

"You  have  not  told  me  your  name." 

"The  world  calls  me,  Failure,"  she  said,  smiling 
sadly;  "but  my  name  you  shall  decide  when  you  see 
me  again." 

Frank  stood  and  watched  her,  his  mind  distraught 
with  many  perplexing  questions,  as  she  went  down  the 
Woods'  Road.  Soon  her  erect  figure  was  lost  to  view 
among  the  trees  and  heavy  foliage;  and  he,  vainly  en 
deavoring  to  unravel  the  snarled  events  of  the  past  few 
hours,  went  back  to  the  shack. 


CHAPTER  II 

TWO  DOCTORS  AND  A   NURSE 

"|T  will  never  do,"  said  Doctor  Gordon  to  Doctor 
1  Ross,  "to  attempt  to  curtail  her  activities.  How 
ever,  the  proposition  which  she  submitted  for  my  con 
sideration  last  Monday  I  hardly  believe  will  meet  with 
your  approval." 

"No,  what  was  it?" 

"She  proposes  to  establish  an  institution  which  she 
believes  will  eventually  banish  the  ills  of  man." 

"You  did  not  encourage  her  in  any  such  nonsense, 
I  hope,"  said  Doctor  Ross  sternly.  "She  would  only 
succeed  in  making  herself  ridiculous.  She  hasn't  an 
idea  what  it  would  mean,  and  I  shall  use  all  the  argu 
ments  of  which  I  am  capable  to  dissuade  her  from  at 
tempting  anything  of  the  kind." 

"That  is  how  you  would  feel,  I  knew,"  replied  Doc 
tor  Gordon.  "At  first,  I  felt  very  much  the  same  way 
about  it.  But,  upon  reflection,  I  am  not  so  sure  that 
it  might  not  be,  after  all,  a  rather  good  thing.  At  any 
rate,  the  arguments  she  advanced  in  favor  of  the  ar 
rangement  were  very  convincing." 

36 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  37 

"I  cannot  think  of  any  that  would  reconcile 
me  to  anything  so  impossible  for  her,"  replied  Doctor 
Ross. 

"She  urged,  for  one  thing — the  truth  of  which  is  evi 
dent — the  necessity  for  the  expansion  of  her  activities." 

"Of  course,  you  did  not  fail  to  remind  her,  Gordon, 
of  the  consequences  of  her  past  activities." 

"You  may  be  sure  I  did  not,  but  she  only  laughed 
and  bade  me  forget,  as  she  was  trying  to  do,  the  ill- 
effects  of  her  past  activities.  She  appeared  to  be  very 
anxious  to  obtain  my  approval  of  the  plan  and  to  induce 
me,  by  persuasive  argument,  to  admit  it  was  a  good 
one.  I  told  her  I  preferred,  before  endorsing  or  further 
discussing  its  merits  or  demerits,  to  talk  it  over  with 
you.  I  suggested,  too,  that  she  might  personally  sub 
mit  for  your  consideration  and' endorsement  the  reasons 
why  she  believed  such  an  arrangement  would  be  to  her 
of  great  benefit." 

"Did  she  agree  to  do  that?" 

"She  did.  Although,  she  said,  she  knew  it  would 
not  be  of  any  use,  for  you  would  never  approve  of  such 
a  venture." 

"And  she  is  right  there,"  replied  Doctor  Ross  de 
cidedly. 

"You  think,  then,  it  is  entirely  out  of  the  question?" 
queried  Doctor  Gordon.  "Well,  perhaps  it  is." 

"It  certainly  is,"  emphatically  replied  Doctor  Ross. 


38  The  Success  of  Failure 

"What  possible  reason  she  can  give  for  the  further 
expansion  of  her  activities,  I  am  curious  to  know." 

"Supposing  we  go  over  there,  then,  this  afternoon," 
suggested  Doctor  Gordon. 

"All  right,  if  it  is  convenient  for  you,"  agreed  Doctor 
Ross. 

"Will  four  o'clock  suit  you?"  inquired  Doctor 
Gordon. 

"Make  it  four-thirty.  I  am  due  at  the  hospital  at  two 
and  do  not  leave  before  four." 

"Very  well,  I  shall  telephone  her  she  may  expect  us 
at  four-thirty,"  said  Doctor  Gordon. 

"Shall  I  call  for  you  or  will  you  call  for  me  at  the 
hospital?"  asked  Doctor  Ross. 

"I  haven't  many  calls  this  afternoon,  so  I  will  call 
for  you." 

"I'll  give  John  the  afternoon  off,  then,"  said  Doctor 
Ross.  "It  will  be  the  first  one  he  has  had  in  a  month." 

"He  will  have  no  objections,  such  being  the  case,  if 
you  make  use  of  my  automobile  this  afternoon,"  said 
Doctor  Gordon  smiling,  and  he  stood  up  and  took  his 
coat  and  hat  from  a  stand  close  by  him. 

"What's  your  hurry?"  asked  Doctor  Ross.  "Stay 
and  take  luncheon  with  me." 

"I  should  like  to,  but  I  can't.  My  days  of  semi-de 
tached  bachelorhood  are  ended  for  this  year." 

"What,  is  Margaret  back?" 


Tivo  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  39 

"Yes,  and  what's  more,  she  made  me  promise  to 
bring  you  back  to  luncheon  with  me.  So  get  your  coat 
and  hat  and  come  along." 

'Til  have  to  call  up  the  garage,  first,"  said  Doctor 
Ross. 

"What  is  the  use  of  calling  up  the  garage,  now?" 
asked  Doctor  Gordon.  "John  won't  be  there." 

"That's  so,"  admitted  Doctor  Ross,  going  over  to 
the  washbowl  and  turning  on  the  cold  and  hot  water 
faucets,  "he  goes  to  lunch  between  twelve  and  one, 
and,"  looking  at  his  watch,  "it  is  now  half-past  twelve. 
I  could  leave  a  message,  I  suppose,"  he  continued, 
turning  off  the  water  and  pulling  up  his  shirt  sleeves 
preparatory  to  washing  his  hands,  "only  he  never  takes 
an  order  from  anyone  but  me,  and " 

"At  one  forty-five,"  supplemented  Doctor  Gordon, 
"he  would  be  found  seated  in  the  machine  in  front  of 
the  door  waiting  for  orders." 

"That's  just  it,"  assented  Doctor  Ross,  replacing  his 
white  linen  coat  with  one  of  blue  serge,  "John  does  not 
believe  in  taking  chances." 

"Well,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Doctor  Gordon,  stepping 
toward  the  door,  "if  you  don't  hurry  we  will  run  a 
chance  of  getting  a  good,  warm  meal  and  a  pleasant 
reception  from  Margaret." 

"Til  be  with  you  in  just  a  moment,"  said  Doctor  ^ 
Ross,  reaching  for  his  hat.    "But  I  must  speak  to  Mrs. 


40  The  Success  of  Failure 

Archer  first,"  and  he  pressed  a  button  at  the  side  of  his 
desk,  which  summoned  from  an  inner  office  a  young 
woman  attired  in  the  white  uniform  of  a  nurse.  She 
acknowledged  with  a  smile  and  a  graceful  inclination 
of  her  head  Doctor  Gordon's  pleasant  greeting,  and 
then  looked  inquiringly  at  her  employer. 

"Mrs.  Archer,"  said  he,  "kindly  inform  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow  I  shall  not  be  in  for  luncheon." 

"Very  well,  doctor,"  she  replied. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  front-door,  he  turned 
and  said : 

"I  shall  not  be  in  before  six;  you  may  have  Ronald 
over,  if  you  wish." 

"Thank  you,  doctor.  You  are  very  good,"  she  said, 
following  them  to  close  the  door.  As  they  took  their 
seats  in  the  automobile  they  raised  their  hats  and,  as 
she  closed  the  door,  a  happy  laugh  came  from  her  lips 
at  the  thought  of  spending  the  afternoon  with  her  boy, 
and  she  ran  down  the  basement  stairs  to  the  dining- 
room. 

After  conveying  the  doctor's  message  to  the  waitress, 
Mrs.  Archer  greeted  with  a  cheery  nod  and  smile  the 
other  diners  at  the  table,  two  young  men  and  three 
young  women,  who  were  discussing  in  a  somewhat 
animated  manner  women's  suffrage.  Not  wishing  to 
be  drawn  into  the  conversation,  she  picked  up  a  medical 
journal  lying  by  her  plate  and  tore  off  the  wrapper,  and 


Tivo  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  41 

in  a  very  few  moments  was,  apparently,  absorbed  in  the 
perusal  of  its  pages. 

Sitting  there,  dressed  in  her  white  uniform,  she  made 
rather  an  attractive  picture.  Her  hair,  a  light-brown, 
was  loosely  taken  back  and  held  in  neat  braids  firmly 
to  the  back  of  her  head  with  long,  bone  hair-pins.  Her 
gray-blue  eyes,  surmounted  by  a  broad,  low  forehead, 
were  particularly  serious  in  their  expression ;  her  nose, 
indicative  of  her  ancestry,  turned  up  slightly,  and  her 
mouth,  set  above  a  somewhat  pointed  chin,  was  large. 
Her  skin,  though  fair,  lacked  the  rosiness  attributed  to 
the  children  of  Erin. 

As  the  meal  advanced,  the  other  persons  seated  at  the 
table,  one  by  one,  arose  and  left  the  dining-room,  and 
Mrs.  Archer  was  left  alone.  Throwing  the  journal, 
which  she  was  pretending  to  read,  to  one  side,  she 
pushed  back  her  plate  and  hastily  drank  the  mouthful 
of  coffee  remaining  in  her  cup  and  hurried  upstairs. 
There  were  a  number  of  things  she  had  to  do  before 
she  could  summon  Martha  by  telephone  to  bring 
Ronald  over,  and  she  wanted  to  spend  as  much  time 
with  him  as  she  possibly  could,  for  it  was  not  often, 
now,  they  spent  an  afternoon  together.  Her  hurrying 
feet  had  barely  reached  the  top  step  of  the  stairs  when 
the  telephone-bell  rang.  She  took  down  the  receiver 
and  held  it  to  her  ear  and,  in  response  to  her  gentle 
"Hallo?"  the  voice  of  Doctor  Ross  said: 


42  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Mrs.  Archer?" 

"Yes,  doctor." 

"Tell  John,  when  he  comes  around,  I  telephoned 
you  he  might  have  the  afternoon  off  and  that  I  shall 
not  need  the  car  before  eight  o'clock  to-night." 

"Very  well,  doctor,"  she  replied  a  trifle  reluctantly. 
"But  you  know  how  John  objects  to  taking  orders 
from  anyone  but  you." 

"I  know/'  he  answered ;  "but  he  was  not  to  be  found 
at  the  garage  when  I  called  up  a  few  moments  ago." 

"I'll  tell  him,  then." 

"By  the  way,"  he  continued,  "if  you  do  not  object, 
try  and  prevail  upon  him  to  take  Ronald  for  a  little 
spin." 

"You  are  very  kind,  doctor,"  she  said,  very 
much  pleased.  "That  will  be  splendid,  he  gets  out  so 
little." 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  he  replied.    "Goodby." 

She  answered  back,  "Goodby,"  and  hung  up  the 
receiver. 

Glancing  at  the  clock,  she  found  it  was  now  fifteen 
minutes  past  one.  In  half-an-hour  John  would  be 
around.  She  must  telephone  Martha  at  once  to  get 
Ronald  ready  and  bring  him  right  over.  John,  of 
course,  could  call  for  him,  but,  motherlike,  she  wanted 
to  assure  herself  that  he  was  sufficiently  wrapped  be 
fore  going  for  his  ride.  She  again  took  down  the 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  43 

receiver  and  gave  the  number,  and  almost  immediately 
a  voice  in  response,  said :  "Creighton." 

"Kindly,"  she  requested,  ''connect  me  with  apart 
ment  twenty-six." 

There  was  a  faint  buzzing,  and  then  Martha's  voice, 
asking,  "Who  is  it?" 

"It  is  I,  Martha.  Get  Ronald  ready  as  quickly  as 
you  can  and  bring  him  over  to  the  office.  John  is 
going  to  take  him  out  for  a  ride  in  the  doctor's 
automobile." 

"Won't  that  be  fine !"  delightedly  exclaimed  Martha. 

"It  will,  indeed.    Let  me  speak  to  him." 

Very  soon,  the  gentle  voice  of  a  child  came  over  the 
wire,  saying,  "Hallo,  mamma!" 

"Hallo,  darling,"  she  replied.  "Hurry  up  and  let 
Martha  dress  you,  for  you  are  to  spend  the  afternoon 
with  your  mother." 

She  could  hear  the  childish  exclamation  of  delight, 
the  merry  laugh  and  the  clapping  of  tiny  hands  as 
Martha  lifted  him  down  from  the  stool. 

"Goodby,  little  son,"  she  murmured  fondly,  as  she 
hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  back  to  her  work  in  the 
inner  office. 

The  last  bottle  had  been  put  back  in  its  place  and  the 
last  instrument  cleaned  and  put  away  when  John, 
seated  in  the  car,  stopped  in  front  of  the  door.  He 


44  The  Success  of  Failure 

glanced  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  but  looked 
straight  ahead.  To  get  his  attention,  she  walked  to 
the  window  and  rapped  gently  on  the  pane.  He  did  not 
turn  his  head,  and  thinking,  perhaps,  he  had  not  heard, 
she  rapped  louder,  but  without  effect,  for  he  still  con 
tinued  to  retain  his  dignified  attitude.  Fearful  of  at 
tracting  the  unwelcome  notice  of  others  if  she  kept  on 
rapping,  she  left  the  window  and  went  into  the  hall 
and,  opening  the  street-door,  called  softly,  "John,"  but 
he  either  could  not,  or  would  not,  hear.  Indignant  at 
being  compelled  to  appear  in  the  street  in  her  uniform, 
she  ran  down  the  steps  and  in  no  gentle  tone  of  voice 
demanded  of  John  what  he  mean,t  by  sitting  in  the 
automobile  ignoring  her  raps  on  the  window-pane  and 
her  call  from  the  door  ? 

Without  turning  his  head  John  said  with  respectful 
emphasis,  "I  heard  you  rap  and  I  heard  you  call,  but 
I  take  no  raps  and  I  take  no  calls  from  anyone  but 
from  the  person  whose  servant  I  am." 

"Nevertheless,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer,  striving  to  con 
trol  her  impatience,  "I,  too,  must  obey  orders.  Doctor 
Ross  telephoned  me  nearly  an  hour  ago  that  he  would 
not  need  the  car  before  eight  o'clock  tonight  and  that 
you  might  have  the  afternoon  off,  but " 

"I  take  no  messages,  I  tell  you,"  interrupted  John, 
"from  anyone  but  my  master." 

"He  also  said,  before  taking  the  automobile  back  to 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  45 

the  garage,  you  should  take  Ronald  out  for  a  short 
ride,"  continued  she. 

"No  man,  woman  or  child/'  replied  John  decisively, 
''puts  a  foot  in  this  car  unless  my  master,  himself,  or 
ders  me  to  let  them  do  so." 

"Very  well,"  retorted  Mrs.  Archer  haughtily,  ''I 
shall  report  your  behaviour  to  the  doctor  when  he  re 
turns  at  six." 

John  did  not  deign  to  reply,  and  Mrs.  Archer,  her 
throat  contracting  and  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  re 
traced  her  steps.  Had  she  not  fully  realized  the  futility 
of  attempting  to  urge  John  to  carry  out  his  master's 
instructions  when  they  were  not  delivered  to  him  per 
sonally,  she  would  have  tried  to  prevail  upon  him  to 
give  Ronald  his  ride.  She  knew  it  would  be  useless 
and  the  doctor,  when  he  arrived  home  that  night  at 
six  o'clock,  would  find  him  sitting  motionless,  waiting 
for  orders,  out  there  in  the  car.  She  was  sorry,  now, 
she  had  mentioned  the  ride  to  Martha  and  prayed  fer 
vently  that  she  had  not  said  anything  about  it  to 
Ronald,  knowing  how  disappointed  he  would  be.  He 
was  not  like  other  children,  this  little  son  of  hers,  for 
so  many  of  the  games  and  amusements  belonging 
to  their  world  had  no  part  in  his.  Little  Ronald  was 
blind.  The  occasional  afternoons  spent  with  his 
mother,  his  daily  walk  with  Martha  in  the  park  or  a 


46  The  Success  of  Failure 

trip  with  her  on  the  cars  were  regarded  by  him  with 
wonder  and  delight. 

Mrs.  Archer  adored  this  boy  of  hers  and  he,  in  turn, 
worshipped  his  mother;  and  although  the  little  chap 
could  not  see  her,  she  examined  her  face  critically  be 
fore  the  mirror  in  the  hall.  She  straightened  her  cap, 
which  the  wind  had  set  awry,  smoothed  back  the  few 
straying  strands  of  hair  and  wiped  her  tear-filled  eyes. 
All  traces  of  tears,  she  decided,  must  be  at  once  re 
moved,  or  his  tiny  hands — with  their  tender,  lingering 
touch — in  their  passing  over  her  face  would  surely 
find  them.  So  she  passed  quickly  into  the  office  and, 
turning  the  cold  water  faucet,  permitted  the  water  to 
flow  until  the  bowl  was  a  little  more  than  half- full. 
Then  she  bathed  her  face  in  it,  after  which  she  patted 
it  xiry  with  a  soft  towel.  The  bell  rang  as  she  hung  up 
the  towel,  and  she  ran  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open, 
and  into  her  arms  she  gathered  her  one  great  posses 
sion,  her  boy.  She  dismissed  Martha  and  told  her  to 
call  for  him  at  five  o'clock.  Then  she  closed  the  door 
and  carried  Ronald  into  the  inner  office  and  sank  with 
him  into  a  large,  comfortable  arm-chair.  As  she  pro 
ceeded  to  remove  his  outer  garments,  he  laid  his  little 
hands  protestingly  upon  hers  and,  in  his  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  way,  asked : 

"Am  I  not  going  out  for  a  ride  with  John  in  the  doc 
tor's  'aunobile/  mother?" 


Two  Doctors  and  a  Nurse  47 

"Not  this  afternoon,  darling,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer, 
releasing  her  hands  and  taking  off  his  hat  and  kissing 
the  top  of  his  curly  head. 

"Why  not,  mother?"  asked  the  child,  raising  a 
quivering  little  face  to  hers.  "Mart'a — said — you — 
told — her — John — was — going — to — take — me — for — a 
ride " 

"So  mother  thought,  dear,  but  John  says  he  cannot 
do  it,"  answered  his  mother,  stifling  a  sigh  as  she  stood 
him  down  by  her  side  and  took  off  his  coat  which, 
with  his  hat  and  gloves,  she  laid  on  a  chair  nearby. 

"Why  can't  he,  mother?"  wailed  the  child,  as  he 
climbed  back  into  her  lap  and  put  two  little,  f*ail  arms 
about  her  neck  and  laid  a  wet  cheek  against  hers. 

"Mother  does  not  know  just  why,"  replied  she,  rais 
ing  the  tear-stained  face  and  kissing  it  tenderly.  "John 
has  queer  notions  about  some  things." 

Nothing  more  was  said  for  several  minutes.  Ronald, 
his  face  buried  in  his  mother's  neck,  was  perfectly 
still;  and  save  for  the  passing  of  her  hand  over  his 
hair,  in  the  soothing  fashion  mothers  have,  Mrs. 
Archer  was  as  motionless.  This  little  chap's  sorrow 
and,  likewise,  his  joys  were  all  hers,  and  she  felt  keenly 
his  failure  to  realize  the  pleasure  of  the  anticipated 
ride.  However,  she  was  not  going  to  permit  it  to  mar 
his  whole  afternoon,  so,  turning  her  head,  she  said 
playfully  in  his  ear: 


48  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Come  now,  honey,  you  are  not  going  to  let  your 
disappointment  spoil  your  afternoon  with  mother,  are 
you?" 

Ronald  responded  by  straightening  up  and  with 
drawing  his  arms  from  around  her  neck.  The  doleful 
face,  with  its  sightless,  blue  eyes,  brightened,  and  the 
mouth,  with  its  trembling  lips,  extended  into  a  quiver 
ing  smile.  Lovingly  his  little  hands,  with  their  deli 
cate  touch,  passed  over  her  face,  and,  apparently,  he 
was  satisfied  with  what  he  found  there  for,  as  he  left 
a  birdlike  kiss  upon  her  lips,  he  said : 

"You  are  very  bootiful,  mother." 

"Mother  is  glad  you  think  so,  little  son,"  she  fondly 
responded.  "But  what  shall  I  do  to  amuse  you  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"Tell  me  a  story,  mother,"  he  replied,  nestling  down 
in  her  arms.  "Tell  me  about  the  bootiful  things  which 

I  cannot  see,  the  big  trees  and  the  pretty  flowers 

You  know,  everything." 

His  mother  drew  him  closer  to  her  and  laid  his  light- 
brown,  curly  head  against  her  breast.  Then  she  pro 
ceeded  with  her  story  and,  childlike,  in  the  telling  his 
disappointment  was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  DOCTORS  CALL  UPON  DOROTHY 

PROMPTLY  at  four  o'clock  Doctor  Gordon,  seated  in 
his  automobile,  arrived  at  the  hospital.  Five  min 
utes  later  Doctor  Ross  took  a  seat  beside  him,  and  the 
car,  joining  the  dense  traffic  of  countless  automobiles, 
cabs,  trucks  and  numerous  other  vehicles  of  every  kind 
and  description,  began  to  slowly  wend  its  way  west 
ward. 

It  would  be  difficult  for  an  observer  watching  the 
two  men  as  they  sat  conversing  to  determine  from  their 
appearance  the  difference,  if  any,  in  their  ages.  Doug 
las  Gordon  possessed  the  face  of  the  optimist.  The 
merry  blue  eyes,  set  well  back  under  heavy  dark  eye 
brows  and  o'er-topped  by  a  forehead  of  extraordinary 
height  and  breadth,  looked  out  brightly  and  hopefully 
upon  everybody  and  everything.  The  mouth,  above 
which  was  a  large  and  decidedly  prominent  nose,  was 
exceedingly  pleasing  in  its  expression,  and  disclosed, 
when  smiling,  an  excellent  set  of  strong,  white  teeth. 
The  chin  was  inclined  to  be  square,  and  was  really  the 
only  severe  looking  thing  about  the  face.  The  skin 

49 


5O  The  Success  of  Failure 

had  the  healthy  color  which  is  attributed  to  those  who 
spend  the  greater  part  of  their  time  out  in  the  open  air, 
and  his  great  head,  supported  by  a  rather  substantial 
neck,  was  thickly  covered  with  reddish-brown  hair.  In 
height  and  weight  he  was  slightly  above  the  average, 
and  his  years  were  forty,  some  years  older  than  his 
brother-in-law,  Doctor  Ross,  but  there  were  few  who 
could  be  made  to  believe  it. 

In  appearance  Robert  Ross  was  decidedly  unlike  his 
brother-in-law,  and  he  viewed  the  world,  its  doings  and 
its  people  from  a  somewhat  different  standpoint.  He 
was  tall  and  slender  and  his  shoulders,  unlike  Doctor 
Gordon's,  stooped  slightly  forward.  His  face,  with  its 
high  cheek  bones,  was  thin  and  long,  and  ttie  pale, 
dark  skin  which  covered  it  did  not  suggest  robustness 
The  eyes,  set  wide  apart  under  heavy  black  eye-brows, 
were  big  and  black,  and  gave  the  rather  disquieting 
impression  when  their  gloomy,  speculative  gaze  was 
directed  at  one  that  not  only  were  they  inspecting  the 
physical  defect,  or  defects,  but  the  moral  ones  were 
being  scrutinized  and  mentally  passed  upon,  also.  The 
forehead  was  high  and  receding,  and  the  finely-shaped 
head  was  covered  with  thick,  black  hair,  through  which 
a  white  one  could  be  seen  here  and  there.  The  nose 
was  long,  but  well-formed,  and  the  largeness  of  the 
mouth  was  redeemed  by  the  pleasant,  if  a  trifle  serious, 
smile  which  it  wore  when  its  owner  greeted  an  ac- 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy  51 

quaintance  or  friend.  The  firm,  square  chin  indicated 
its  possessor  might  be  depended  upon  to  perform  any 
thing  which  he  deemed  it  worth  while  to  undertake. 

Doctor  Gordon,  whose  sunny  nature  so  endeared 
him  to  his  patients  and  fellow-practitioners,  had  an 
unfaltering  faith  in  the  inherent  good  of  humanity  and 
in  the  final  elimination  of  its  ever-appearing  evils,  and 
believed  the  social  leavening  elements  of  society  would 
eventually  produce  conditions  wholly  conducive  to  the 
well-being  of  mankind.  In  this  respect  he  differed 
greatly  from  his  brother-in-law,  for  Doctor  Ross  had 
little,  if  any,  faith  in  human-kind,  and  regarded  society 
as  a  rather  uncertain  structure.  He  had  scant  patience 
with  people  who  lived  in  the  past  or  dreamed  of  the 
future.  It  was  the  things  of  today,  and  not  those  of 
yesterday  or  tomorrow,  which  interested  him,  and  he 
did  not  believe  in  waiting  for  future  remedies  to  correct 
present  ills. 

Despite  the  dissimilarity,  however,  the  friendship 
existing  between  the  two  men  was  no  common  one, 
and  there  was  little  in  the  life  of  one  which  did  not 
interest  the  other. 

When  the  car  left  the  street  and  turned  into  the 
avenue,  Doctor  Ross,  having  finished  stating,  in  re 
sponse  to  Doctor  Gordon's  inquiry,  the  number  of 
patients  who  had  applied  at  the  clinic  that  afternoon 
for  treatment  and  citing  some  of  the  interesting  cases, 


52  The  Success  of  Failure 

lapsed  into  silence  and  gazed  gloomily  off  up  the 
crowded  avenue.  His  brother-in-law  was  well  ac 
quainted  with  his  quiet  moods  and  knew  it  would  be 
futile  to  introduce  any  new  topic  of  conversation,  so 
leaving  him  to  his  thoughts  he  sat  silently  looking  out, 
noting  and  mentally  commenting  upon  the  numerous 
objects  of  interest  as  they  passed,  and  giving  an  occa 
sional  glance  at  the  varying  faces  of  the  hurrying 
crowds  of  people  passing  and  repassing  each  other  on 
their  way  north  and  south.  In  less  than  half-an-hour 
the  automobile  drew  up  in  front  of  a  large,  red-brick 
building. 

"Here  we  are.  Wake  up,  Ross,"  said  Doctor  Gordon, 
rising  and  stepping  out  upon  the  sidewalk. 

"So  I  see,"  replied  Doctor  Ross,  getting  slowly  up 
and  following  Doctor  Gordon  through  the  entrance  of 
the  "Bentley  Apartments."  They  ascended  in  the  ele 
vator  to  the  fourth  floor,  where  they  alighted,  and  a 
few  short  steps  brought  them  to  the  door  of  the  apart 
ment  on  the  right.  In  response  to  the  ring  of  the  bell, 
a  little  lady,  attired  neatly  in  black,  stood  in  the  door 
way.  White  linen,  hemstitched  bands,  which  covered 
the  collar  and  cuffs  of  her  gown,  slightly  relieved  its 
somberness.  Smiling  brightly  in  greeting,  she  stretched 
out  a  hand  to  each  and  drew  them  in  and  closed  the 
door. 

As  she  led  the  wav  to  the  small,  but  cozily  furnished 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy  53 

sitting-room,  she  asked,  smiling  mischievously  up  at 
Doctor  Ross,  "Have  you  come  up  to  scold  me,  Bob?" 

"Hardly  that,  Dorothy,"  he  replied,  looking  down 
into  the  twinkling,  brown  eyes  with  his  grave,  black 
ones.  "I  have  come  up  to  try  and  dissuade  you,  if  I 
can,  from  attempting  anything  like  a  boarding-house." 

"But  it  isn't  going  to  be  a  boarding-house,  Bob !" 

"What  is  it  going  to  be,  then  ?"  he  asked,  placing  his 
hat  on  the  table  and  seating  himself  beside  her  on  the 
couch. 

"A  home,"  she  replied  emphatically. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  home,  Dorothy?"  asked 
Doctor  Gordon,  sinking  into  the  commodious,  leather- 
cushioned  arm-chair  by  the  window. 

"I  mean,  Douglas,"  she  replied  smiling,  "a  home- 
living  place." 

"It  is  possible,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Ross,  regard 
ing 'his  shoes  intently,  "in  the  establishing  of  this  'home- 
living-place'  to  unknowingly  eliminate  all  that  may 
mean  a  home." 

It  is  so  like  you  to  think  of  that,  Bob,"  replied  she, 
laying  a  small,  white  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"And  that  is  something  well  worth  your  considera 
tion,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Gordon.  "However,  go 
ahead  and  tell  Bob  just  what  you  wish  to  do." 

"I  propose,"  she  replied,  wrinkling  up  her  smooth, 
white  forehead,  "to  make  conditions  livable  for  all. 


54  The  Success  of  Failure 

Some  of  the  children  of  men  have  too  much,  others  too 
little,  and  for  that  reason  I  intend  to  make  a  more 
even  distribution.  To  do  this,  I  shall  introduce  my 
idea  of  the  'home-living  place'  and  the  great  need  of  its 
furtherance,  and  shall  encourage  all  who  will  to  make 
their  home  with  me.  Applicants,  of  course,  will  be 
expected  to  furnish  references  as  to  their  good  faith." 

"References!  What  is  the  good  of  references!" 
impatiently  demanded  Doctor  Ross.  "They  are  not 
always  to  be  depended  upon;  nor  can  they  always  be 
accepted  as  a  guarantee  of  the  individual's  honesty  of 
purpose.  You'll  want  something  more  than  refer 
ences,  Dorothy,  to  make  this  venture  a  success." 

"And  what  is  the  essential  'something,'  Bob?" 

"A  greater  knowledge  of  the  world  and  the  needs  of 
its  people,"  he  replied,  smiling  slightly,  "of  which,  al 
though  you  won't  admit  it,  you  are  wofully  ignorant." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Bob?"  she  asked  teasingly. 
"Sometimes  I  wonder  if  that  is  not  true  of  you." 

"It  could  hardly  be  possible,  could  it,  considering  my 
profession  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied  dubiously.  "Anyway,  I 
think  you  are  a  bit  mistaken  in  believing  that  I  am  so 
deplorably  ignorant." 

"You  have  a  bowing-acquaintance,  Dorothy,  but  I 
am  positive  you  have  not  a  visiting  one  with  the  world," 
replied  the  doctor. 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy  55 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Bob,"  she  replied  laughing,  "in 
the  years  spent  traveling  around  this  old  globe  I  picked 
up  a  little  knowledge  and  became  somewhat  worldly- 
wise." 

"True,  you  have  traveled  and  visited  many  foreign 
countries  and  rubbed  elbows  with  their  strange  chil 
dren,  but  you  have  never  given,  I  am  sure,  any  serious 
consideration  to  the  conditions  under  which  they  live." 

"That  is  true,  Bob,"  acquiesced  she.  "And  for  that 
very  reason  I  think  my  proposed  undertaking  is  an 
excellent  one.  Through  it,  perhaps,  I  shall  gain  the 
knowledge  which  you  think  I  lack,  and  through  it  be 
able  to  lighten  the  burdens  and  brighten  the  lives  of  the 
world's  workers." 

"Not  so,  but  you  will  wish  as  time  goes  on  that  it 
were  possible  to  close  your  ears  to  the  constant  lamenta 
tions  of  the  world's  children." 

"What  makes  you  so  pessimistic  about  my  under 
taking,  Bob?" 

"Your  present  total  unfitness,  Dorothy,  that  is  all." 

"Why  not  make  your  home  with  Margaret  and  me  ?" 
asked  Doctor  Gordon.  "You  know  we  are  very  anx 
ious  to  have  you.  This  living  by  yourself  is,  by  no 
means,  good  for  you." 

"I  know,"  replied  Dorothy,  "and  it  is  very  good  of 
you  to  want  me." 

"But  you  won't  come,  eh,  Dorothy  ?" 


56  The  Success  of  Failure 

"No,  Douglas,"  replied  she,  gravely  shaking  her 
head,  "I  have  decided  to  live  my  life  serving  and  to 
endeavor  to  know  the  working  world  and  its  people 
better." 

•  "Very  well,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Gordon  gently, 
"I  trust  the  knowledge  gained  will  be  worth  the 
serving." 

"I  think  it  will,"  said  Doctor  Ross.  'The  world  is 
not  such  a  bad  place,  after  all,  and  I  am  half-inclined  to 
believe  if  the  knowledge  she  imparts  to  the  student  is 
not  always  the  best,  it  is,  perhaps,  as  much  the  fault  of 
the  scholar  as  of  the  school." 

"You  mean,"  queried  Dorothy,  "the  scholar  is  to 
blame  for  the  school  ?" 

"No,  for  what  he  learns  there." 

"From  what  source  do  you  expect  to  get  the  people 
whom  you  intend  to  occupy  this  'home-living  place' 
with  you  ?"  asked  Doctor  Gordon. 

"The  newspapers." 

"Why  not  include  the  Workers'  League  ?"  asked 
Doctor  Ross. 

"So  you  are  willing  to  make  a  suggestion,  Bob  ?" 

"Nevertheless,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Ross  gravely, 
"I  want  it  understood  that  I  utterly  disapprove  of  the 
whole  plan.  I  do  not  like  it  at  all,  and  wish  it  were 
possible  to  dissuade  you  from  attempting  anything  of 
the  kind.  But  as  you  are  not  to  be  deterred  from  your 


The  Doctors  Call  Upon  Dorothy  57 

purpose,  I  shall  say  no  more  about  it,  but  leave  to  the 
future  the  disclosing  of  the  folly,  or  wisdom  of  your 
decision." 

"Dear  old  Bob,"  said  Dorothy  gently.  "What  a  good 
friend  you  are." 

"And  am  I  never  to  become  anything  more  than  that 
to  you,  Dorothy  ?" 

"Hush,"  and  she  glanced  meaningly  at  the  occupant 
of  the  chair  by  the  window  whose  attention  for  the 
moment  was  attracted  by  something  he  saw  in  the  street 
below. 

''Never  mind  him,  tell  me." 

"Don't,  Bob,"  pleaded  she,  raising  troubled  eyes  to 
his  gloomy  ones.  "Don't  look  like  that.  Rest  assured, 
I  shall  have  to  call  upon  you,  again  and  again,  to  help 
me  cross  my  bridges,  in  the  crossing  of  which  I  hope  to 
learn  something  of  the  structures  and  the  cause  of 
their  building." 

"What  is  that  about  bridges?"  asked  Doctor  Gor 
don,  withdrawing  his  eyes  from  the  street  and  looking 
enquiringly  at  Dorothy. 

"Oh,"  she  replied,  laughing,  "I  was  just  telling  Bob 
I  should,  in  all  probability,  need  him  to  help  me  cross 
my  bridges." 

"Time  enough  to  think  of  crossing  bridges  when  you 
come  to  them,  Dorothy,"  cheerily  responded  Doctor 
Gordon.  "But  go  and  put  on  your  hat  and  coat,  for  I 


58  The  Success  of  Failure 

am  going  to  take  you  back  with  us  in  the  automobile. 
Margaret  is  home,  and " 

"I  know,  she  telephoned  me,"  similingly  interrupted 
Dorothy,"  her  big,  brown  eyes  shining  as  she  rose  and 
took  from  the  mantel-piece  at  her  right  a  small,  plainly- 
trimmed  hat  which  she  placed  upon  her  head,  glancing 
meanwhile  into  the  mirror  while  she  fastened  it  se 
curely  to  her  heavy  hair  with  two  long  hat-pins. 

While  she  was  thus  occupied,  Doctor  Ross  rose  to 
his  feet  and  from  the  back  of  a  chair  took  a  long  coat, 
which  he  opened  out  and  held  while  she  slipped  her 
slender  arms  into  its  sleeves.  She  thanked  him  and 
drew  the  coat  more  closely  around  her. 

"Did  Margaret  tell  you,  when  she  called  you  up, 
Dorothy,"  inquired  Doctor  Gordon,  "that  she  intended 
to  keep  your  over  night?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Dorothy,  with  a  nod  of  her  head. 
''There  is  my  grip  over  there,"  and  she  pointed  to  a 
corner  of  the  room  near  the  door. 

Doctor  Gordon  rose  and  took  immediate  possession  of 
the  grip  and,  after  the  usual  examination  of  windows 
to  see  that  all  were  securely  locked  and  that  nothing 
was  amiss  with  the  lock  of  the  door  leading  into  the 
apartment,  they  proceeded  on  their  way. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DOROTHY,    THE    NEW    APPLICANT,    AND    A    CALL    FROM 
MRS.  GORDON 

DOROTHY,  at  the  beginning  of  our  story,  was  at  the 
age  when  one  forgets  one's  years.  She  was  one  of 
a  large  family  whose  members,  as  they  grew  up,  sepa 
rated  and  made  their  homes  in  every  country  of  the 
globe.  Dorothy  made  hers  in  the  United  States  of 
America,  and  was  for  a  time  the  protege  of  the  father 
of  Margaret  Gordon  and  of  her  adopted  brother, 
Robert  Ross.  However,  their  inability  to  agree  upon 
many  of  the  important  issues  of  life  brought  about  their 
partial  separation.  For  instance,  their  understanding 
of  the  meaning  of  the  word  "service"  was  totally  at 
variance.  Dorothy  believed  that  it  applied  to  everyone, 
irrespective  of  birth,  condition  or  place,  and  this  belief 
she  carried  out  in  her  own  daily  life.  She  was  born 
to  serve,  and  "Born  to  Serve"  was  her  motto.  ''Never 
ask  another  to  do  what  you  would  not  care  to  do  your 
self,"  was  her  favorite  precept.  Whereas,  Margaret 
Gordon's  acceptation  of  the  meaning  was  entirely  dif 
ferent.  "If,"  said  she,  "service  can  be  procured  for 

59 


60  The  Success  of  Failure 

money,  or  otherwise,  why  should  I  serve  ?"  She  changed 
the  old  adage  to  read,  "Never  do  for  yourself  what  you 
can  get  others  to  do  for  you."  Such  an  acceptation 
was  impossible  to  Dorothy,  and  she  found  Margaret's 
questioning  of  "Why  do  you  tire  yourself  out  doing 
this  ?"  or  "Why  don't  you  get  somebody  to  do  that  for 
you?"  and  "Why  do  you  trouble  yourself  doing  for 
others  what  they  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  do  for  you?" 
particularly  irritating,  and  were,  she  considered,  an 
interference  with  her  liberties.  Doctor  Ross  differed 
from  them  both  in  his  belief  that  "service"  without 
"love"  was  naught.  This  view  of  "service"  Dorothy 
could  not  accept,  and  Margaret  preferred  to  ignore  it 
altogether. 

Although  short,  Dorothy  did  not  appear  so.  Her 
erect  and  unconscious  dignity  of  bearing  and  her  light- 
brown  hair  piled  high  upon  her  head,  gave  the  im 
pression  that  she  was  much  taller.  The  expression  of 
her  face,  which  was  of  great  beauty  and  of  wonderful 
strength,  was  mostly  tranquil,  and  the  smooth,  broad 
forehead  rarely  ever  wore  a  frown.  The  big,  brown 
eyes  looked  out  quietly  and  fearlessly  upon  the  world 
and  its  people.  The  nose  was  faultless  and  the  mouth 
and  chin  perfect.  The  skin  was  pale  and  lacked  the 
requisite  coloring  to  make  her  face  the  most  beautiful 
one  in  the  world. 

In  the  securing  of  proper  quarters  for  the  establish- 


Borothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call         6t 

ing  of  her  home -living  place,  Dorothy  permitted  very 
little  time  to  elapse  after  the  doctors'  visit,  and  among 
the  many  applicants  who  applied  for  admittance  was 
Franklin  Thompson.  Dorothy  was  busily  engaged  one 
morning  in  curtain  mending,  when  Bertha,  the  colored 
maid  of  all  work,  announced : 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Miss  Richardson." 

"Very  well,  Bertha/'  replied  Dorothy  without  rais 
ing  her  eyes  from  the  curtain.  "Ask  him- to  step  this 
way." 

"I  did,  ma'am,  he's  right  here." 

Dorothy  glanced  up  quickly  and  saw  a  man  of 
medium  height,  with  hat  in  hand,  standing  in  the  door 
way.  "How-do-you-do?"  she  said  pleasantly.  "Won't 
you  come  in  and  sit  down?" 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied,  remaining  where  he  stood, 
"it  is  hardly  worth  while.  I  was  directed  here  by 
the  'Workers'  League.'  You  have  a  vacancy,  I  be 
lieve?" 

"I  have  only  one  that  would  suit  you,"  replied 
Dorothy,  rising  and  stepping  past  him  into  the  hall. 
"It  is  right  here,"  opening  a  door  a  few  feet  to  the  left, 
which  disclosed  a  small  but  neatly  furnished  room. 
Its  new  furnishings  and  cleanliness  attracted  the  man, 
and  he  said : 

"That  will  do  very  nicely,  and  with  your  permission 
I  shall  take  possession  of  it  at  once." 


62  The  Success  of  Failure 

"The  room  is  ready  for  occupancy/'  replied  Dorothy 
smiling.  "You  may  come  whenever  you  wish." 

"Thank  you,"  he  ^aid,  regarding  Dorothy  somewhat 
quizzically  from  a  pair  of  keen  gray  eyes.  "You  pro 
vide  keys,  of  course." 

Certainly.  Wait  a  moment  and  I  will  get  them  for 
you,"  and  stepping  back  into  the  room  from  which  she 
had  come,  she  returned  almost  immediately,  holding 
two  keys  in  her  hand,  which,  after  stating  to  which 
locks  they  belonged,  she  handed  them  to  him. 

He  thanked  her  and  was  making  his  way  slowly  to 
ward  the  door  leading  into  the  public  hall,  when  she 
stopped  him  with  the  inquiry : 

"May  I  know  your  name?" 

"You  may,"  he  said  turning.  "My  name  is  Franklin 
Thompson." 

The  door  closed  after  him  and  Dorothy  went  "back 
to  her  curtain-mending,  reflecting  that  this  applicant 
was  some  years  older  than  any  of  the  others.  They 
were  mere  youngsters  in  comparison,  but  this  one  was 
a  man  whose  years  must  be  as  many  as  her  own.  It 
had  not  been  her  intention  to  admit  into  her  "home- 
living  place"  anyone  as  old  as  herself,  and  now  she  is 
beginning  to  question  the  wisdom  of  admitting  Mr. 
Franklin  Thompson  as  an  inmate.  To  his  appearance 
she  had  not  given  much  heed,  and  could  only  remem 
ber  that  his  hair  was  slightly  gray  at  the  temples  and 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call     63 

at  each  side  of  his  mouth  were  deep  lines.  A  gentleman 
though  he  may  be,  she  regrets  that  his  age  will  pre 
clude  the  friendly  intimacy  that  exists  between  the 
"kiddies,"  as  she  calls  the  other  members  of  the  "home- 
living  place,"  and  herself.  Just  then  a  voice,  which 
she  recognizes,  accompanied  by  footsteps  in  the  hall> 
breaks  in  upon  her  thoughts,  and  she  hears : 

"Don't  trouble,  Bertha,  I'll  find  her." 

The  voice  and  footsteps  belonged  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  so 
Dorothy  called  out : 

"I'm  in  here,  Margaret!" 

"So  this  is  where  you  are,  and  as  busy  as  usual. 
What  are  you  doing?"  said  a  tall,  dark,  handsome- 
woman  becomingly  dressed  in  brown,  entering  and 
crossing  the  room  to  where  Dorothy  sat. 

"Not  so  very  busy  now,"  replied  Dorothy,  removing 
from  a  chair  beside  her  the  mate  to  the  curtain  she  was 
mending.  "Here,  sit  down.  These  curtains  were 
dotted  with  tiny  holes  which  have  taken  some  time  to 
mend.  However,  I  have  nearly  finished  mending  them 
and  they  will  be  ready  for  the  wash  tomorrow." 

"Well,  Dorothy,"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon,  leaning  back 
in  her  chair,  "do  you  find  your  guests  as  keenly  anx 
ious  for  a  'home-living  place'  as  you  thought?" 

"So  far,  it  appears  to  meet  with  their  appreciation," 
replied  Dorothy.  "But,"  surprisedly,  "what  brings  you 
out  so  early  this  morning?" 


64  The  Success  of  Failure 

''What  makes  you  ask  that?"  laughingly  asked  Mrs. 
Gordon.  ''It  is  not  so  very  early.  It  is  nearly  ten." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Dorothy.  "It  is  rather 
unusual  for  you  to  get  out  in  the  morning,  isn't  it?" 

"Well,  it  is  rather  exceptional,  I  will  admit,"  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon  smiling,  "but  I  should  not  say  remarkable 
when  an  early  morning's  call  upon  one's  brother  is  the 

cause Now  don't  look  frightened,  there  is  nothing 

the  matter  with  Bob,"  added  she  quickly,  noting  the 
look  of  alarm  that  spread  rapidly  over  Dorothy's  face, 
"unless,  perhaps,  it  is  stubbornness." 

"Oh,  Margaret,"  deprecated  Dorothy. 

"Pig-headedness,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  laying 
emphasis  on  the  pig. 

"Why,  Margaret,  what  is  the  trouble?"  asked 
Dorothy,  her  eyes  opening  wide  in  amazement.  "What 
has  he  done  or  what  won't  he  do?" 

"Ever  since  I  returned  from  my  trip,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon  gravely,  "I  have  been  anxiously  waiting  for 
the  opportune  time  and  place  to  present  themselves 
when  I  could,  without  offending  him,  not  only  call  to 
Bob's  attention  the  folly  of  engaging  to  perform  the 
duties  of  an  office-nurse  such  a  young  and  pretty 
woman  as  Mrs.  Archer,  but  also  to  impress  upon  him 
the  impropriety  of  retaining  her  in  his  employ,  he  being 
a  man  and  an  unmarried  physician.  However,  as  the 
days  and  weeks  went  by,  the  looked-for  opportunity 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call         65 

grew  more  and  more  remote,  so  becoming  apprehen 
sive  of  unkind  criticism  and  goodness  only  knows  what 
else  I " 

"You  decided  the  proper  time  should  be  this  morning 
and  the  proper  place  should  be  Bob's  office,"  inter 
rupted  Dorothy,  looking  smilingly  across  at  her  caller. 

''Yes,"  emphatically  replied  Mrs.  Gordon.  ''I  de 
termined  last  night  that  I  should  not  let  another  day 
go  by  without  speaking  to  Bob  about  it.  But  I  might 
just  as  well  have  spared  myself  the  trouble,  for  I  was 
given  to  understand  it  was  none  of  my  business." 

"Bob  fails  to  see  the  impropriety,  I  suppose,"  said 
Dorothy,  lowering  her  eye-lids  to  hide  the  merry 
twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"Well,  if  he  does,  he  won't  admit  it,"  snapped  Mrs. 
Gordon. 

"He  has  no  intention,  then,  of  following  your  advice 
and  dismissing  Mrs.  Archer?"  queried  Dorothy,  hold 
ing  the  curtain  up  in  her  outstretched  hands  to  look  for 
more  holes  and,  at  the  same  time,  hide  from  Mrs. 
Gordon's  view  her  laughing  face. 

"None  whatever,  I  regret  to  say,"  gloomily  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon.  "At  first  he  seemed  very  much  amused 
and  ridiculed  the  idea  of  discharging  a  capable  nurse 
because  she  was  young  and  pretty.  And  when  I  hinted 
that  his  reputation  might  suffer,  he  only  laughed  and 
said :  'I  was  unduly  concerned ;  that  he  was  well  able 


66  The  Success  of  Failure 

to  take  care  of  his  reputation  and  could  certify  to  the 
good  conduct  of  his  nurse/  But  when  I  suggested 
that  the  friendliness  which  existed  between  him  and 
Mrs.  Archer  might,  by  some,  be  misconstrued,  he  be 
came  indignant,  and  stated,  in  anything  but  pleasant 
tones,  'That  as  long  as  there  was  as  little  cause  for 
misconstruction  he  refused  to  discuss  the  situation 
further,  excepting  to  say  that  he  was  surprised  that  I 
should  have  taken  the  trouble  to  come  to  him  with  such 
a  foolish  suggestion  or  to  expect  him  to  give  it,  for  a 
moment,  any  serious  consideration ;  that  the  affairs  of 
his  office  were  his  own  concern,  and  he  considered  it 
proper  and  fitting  that  they  should  be  so  regarded  by 
others.'  He  was  very  angry,  and  so  was  I.  I  told  him 
he  could  rest  assured  that  neither  he  nor  his  affairs 
would  suffer  through  any  interference  of  mine  in  the 
future." 

"Poor  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy  consolingly,  as  Mrs. 
Gordon  wiped  away  with  her  handkerchief  the  tears 
which  had  slowly  been  gathering  in  her  eyes  during  the 
recital,  "y°ur  good  intentions  were,  no  doubt,  mis 
understood,  and  Bob  evidently  looked  upon  your  sug 
gestion  as  an  impertinent  interference." 

"He,  undoubtedly,  did,"  sharply  replied  Mrs.  Gor 
don.  "And  it  was  not  intended  to  be  anything  of  the 
sort.  Mrs.  Archer  may  be  an  excellent  nurse,  I  am  not 
questioning  her  ability.  But,  to  prevent  unfavorable 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call         67 

comment,  I  do  think  it  would  be  wiser  for  him  to  have, 
as  an  office  nurse,  a  woman  of  more  mature  years. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Dorothy  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Margaret,"  replied  Dorothy  musing 
ly.  "Sometimes,  I  think,  we  give  too  much  considera 
tion  to  the  opinions  of  others.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as 
well  if  we  gave  less  and  depended  more  upon  the 
still,  small  voice  of  the  inner  man  or  woman  to  bear 
witness  to  our  righteousness/' 

"Or  unrighteousness,"  returned  Mrs.  Gordon. 
"However,  you  haven't  answered  my  question/' 

"I  think  I  have,  Margaret,"  replied  Dorothy  laugh 
ing.  "Anyway,  I  have  answered  it  as  well  as  I  should/' 

"In  other  words,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  with  a  dry, 
short  laugh,  "mind  your  own  business  and  observe 
closely  the  steps  that  lead  unto  and  from  thine  own 
dwelling." 

"That's  good  advice,  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy,  smil 
ing  gravely  as  she  snipped  with  her  scissors  the  thread 
from  the  last  of  the  many  tiny  darned  spots  and  folded 
up  the  curtain,  "but  like  many  other  good  things  not 
agreeable  to  the  taste,  although  good  for  the  system,  it 
is  not  in  demand.  Now,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  ques 
tion.  Was  this  interview  of  yours  with  Bob  over  be 
fore  Mrs.  Archer  arrived  at  the  office  ?" 

"Goodness  gracious,  yes!"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  im 
patiently.  "I  called  at  the  office  shortly  after  eight 


68  The  Success  of  Failure 

o'clock.  She  is  not  due  until  some  time  later.  Bob 
had  recovered  his  usual  manner  and  we  were  chatting 
pleasantly  when  she  stepped  in  a  few  minutes  before 
nine.  You  don't  suppose  the  propriety,  or  impropriety, 
of  her  retainment  by  Bob  as  his  office-nurse  was  dis 
cussed  in  her  presence,  do  you?" 

"Not  knowingly,  of  course,"  Dorothy  hastened  to 
reply.  "I  was  afraid  she  might  have  been  in  that 
cubby-hole  of  a  place  at  the  left  of  the  reception-room 
and  unintentionally  have  overheard  the  conversation." 

"Oh,  no,"  assured  Mrs.  Gordon,  "she  was  not  there, 
nor  anyone  else.  The  door  was  wide  open  and  I  looked 
in." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  for  I  should  not  like  her  to 
even  suspect,  let  alone  know,  the  purpose  of  your  visit 
to  the  office ;  nor  would  I  have  her  dream  that  she  was 
the  cause  of  the  little  unpleasantness  that  sprang  up  this 
morning  between  you  and  Bob." 

"Considerate  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  smiling  a 
trifle  sarcastically.  "But  why  this  considerateness? 
It  seems  to  me  that  you  and  Bob,  alike,  are  more  than 
usually  interested  in  a  total  stranger." 

"That  she  is  a  stranger  should  be  an  excellent  reason 
for  one's  interest,  I  think,"  soberly  replied  Dorothy. 

"But  nothing  is  known  about  her,"  persisted  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "Bob  admits  that  he  engaged  her  solely  upon 
the  recommendation  of  Doctor  Lewis,  and  he,  you 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call         69 

know,  would  recommend  Satan,  himself,  if  he  hap- 
pended  to  be  out  of  work  and  he  thought  he  needed  it." 

"Poor  Mrs.  Archer,  I  don't  believe  she  is  any  nearer 
related  to  that  gentleman  than  we  are,  do  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  dubiously  retorted  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "I  don't  like  people  who  are  so  reticent  about 
their  past." 

''Come  now,  Margaret,  be  fair,"  urged  Dorothy 
gently.  "A  failure  to  speak  of  the  past  and  of  its  asso 
ciations,  does  not  always  imply  that  it  holds  what  we, 
or  the  world,  would  deem  questionable.  I  cannot  be 
lieve  that  Mrs.  Archer's  reticence  is  due  to  anything 
unworthy." 

''Perhaps  not,"  tartly  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  "never 
theless,  I  should  feel  easier  in  my  mind  if  I  could 
learn  something  about  her  which  would  justify  that 
statement." 

"The  past,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Dorothy  musingly, 
her  eyes  fixed  thoughtfully  upon  Mrs.  Gordon's  face, 
"does  not  always  contain  the  most  agreeable  memories ; 
and  for  that  reason,  I  believe,  many  people  close  and 
lock  the  door  upon  it  and  throw  away  the  key,  and  in 
the  way  of  today  they  try  to  forget  the  road  of  yester 
day,  a  road,  no  doubt,  strewn  with  shattered  idols  and 
bordered  with  fading  ideals  and  painful  recollections. 
The  brighter  spots  along  the  way  are  nearly,  if  not  alto 
gether,  obscured  by  the  darker  and  greater  ones.  So 


70  The  Success  of  Failure 

they  wisely  leave  those  things  behind,  the  recalling  of 
which  would  only  serve  to  retard  their  progress,  and 
bravely  take  up  the  duties  of  the  present,  neither  hoping 
for  nor  dreading  the  future,  only  desiring  to  work 
and  wait." 

"And  you  think  that  is  Mrs.  Archer's  case?" 

"I  cannot  say.  It  may  be,"  replied  Dorothy,  remov 
ing  her  eyes  and  permitting  them  to  travel  out  of  the 
window. 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  or  do  will  not  change  the  state  of 
affairs,  now,  so  we  will  drop  the  subject  for  the  pres 
ent,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  resignedly. 

"And  promise  me  you  won't  worry  any  more  about 
it,  Margaret,"  pleaded  Dorothy,  leaning  over  and  lay 
ing  her  small  white  hands  affectionately  upon  Mrs. 
Gordon's  larger  ones  lying  in  her  lap.  "I  assure  you, 
it  is  needless." 

"I  only  hope  it  may  prove  to  be  so,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon,  doubtfully  shaking  her  head  as  she  took  the 
little  hands  in  her  own. 

"I  know  it  will,"  assured  Dorothy  confidently. 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  rather  hopeless 
ly,  adding  with  a  quizzical  smile,  "Why  don't  you 
marry  Bob,  Dorothy,  and  thus  relieve  me  of  all  respon 
sibility  in  that  direction?" 

Dorothy  laughed  and  withdrew  her  hands. 

"Who  knows,  perhaps  I  may,  some  day,"  she  said, 


Dorothy,  the  New  Applicant,  and  a  Call         71 

rising  and  smiling  teasingly.  "Just  now,  however,  I 
am  going  out  in  the  kitchen  to  make  you  a  cup  of  tea. 
You  look  completely  tired  out.  If  you  go  home  look 
ing  the  way  you  do,  Douglas  will  fail  to  recognize 
you.  Why  didn't  you  take  your  hat  off  when  you  came 
in?  You  don't  expect  to  be  asked  every  time  you 
come  here,  do  you?" 

Mrs.  Gordon  smiled  and  raised  her  hands  to  take  out 
the  hat-pins. 

'Thank  you,  Dorothy,"  she  said,  "I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  a  cup  of  tea,  for  my  head  feels  a  trifle  queer. 
And  I  think,  while  you  are  outside,  I  shall  take  off  my 
hat  and  smooth  my  hair.  When  I  came  in  I  didn't 
intend  to  stay  more  than  a  few  minutes,  and  I  have 
been  here  over  an  hour."  >i 

"You  surely  can  afford  it,  once  in  a  while,"  laughed 
Dorothy.  "It  is  not  often  you  honor  me  with  your 
presence  in  the  morning. 

On  her  way  to  the  kitchen,  Dorothy  met  her  new 
guest,  Franklin  Thompson,  coming  in  carrying  his 
grip.  In  response  to  her  nod  and  bright  smile  of  recog 
nition,  he  removed  his  hat  and  bowed  slightly.  Leav 
ing  instructions  with  Bertha  to  put  on  the  kettle,  she 
hastened  after  him  to  see  if  he  was  rightly  located. 
When  she  reached  him,  his  hand  was  on  the  handle  of 
the  door  of  the  room  to  the  right  instead  of  being  upon 
that  of  the  door  of  the  room  to  the  left,  which  was  the 


72  The  Success  of  Failure 

one  selected  by  him.  She  laughed  lightly,  and  at  the 
sound  he  turned  around. 

"You  are  going  into  the  wrong  room,"  she  said, 
opening  the  door  to  the  left.  'This  is  the  one/' 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  slightly  embarrassed,  "I  was 
not  aware  I  was  trespassing." 

"Nothing  serious,  I  can  assure  you,"  Dorothy  smil 
ingly  hastened  to  reply.  "I  trust  you  will  find  every 
thing  to  your  liking  and  will  soon  feel  at  home." 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied,  glancing  approvingly 
around  the  room,  "I  am  sure  I  shall  shortly  feel  very 
much  at  home." 


CHAPTER  V 

FRANK   INSTALLED   IN   THE   "HOME-LIVING   PLACE" 

As  Dorothy  closed  the  door  and  went  out,  Frank, 
with  a  long,  deep  sigh  of  relief,  tossed  his  hat 
upon  the  bed  and  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  The  greater 
part  of  yesterday  and  two  hours  of  today  had  been 
spent  in  seeking  to  locate  a  place  he  might  call  home. 
The  places  he  had  hitherto  seen  were  either  dark  and 
uncleanly  or  the  price  asked  was  too  high ;  and  it  was, 
therefore,  with  reluctance  and  doubt,  when  he  came  to 
the  last  name  on  the  list  secured  from  the  Workers' 
League,  that  he  climbed  the  long  flight  of  stairs  lead 
ing  to  Dorothy's  "home-living  place."  His  doubts  and 
fears  were  soon  quieted,  however,  when  he  beheld  the 
bright,  newly-furnished  room  facing  the  street.  On 
the  floor,  in  the  center  of  the  room,  was  a  pretty  green 
rug ;  pushed  close  against  the  wall,  with  its  white  spread 
and  linen  covered  pillow,  was  a  single  brass  bed ;  in  the 
corner,  with  its  white  linen-covered  top  and  hand  em 
broidered-covered  pin-cushion,  stood  a  dark  chiffonier ; 
at  the  window,  to  match  the  chiffonier,  was  a  medium- 
sized  rocking-chair;  screwed  into  the  wall,  holding 

73 


74  The  Success  of  Failure 

clean  linen  towels,  were  two  racks ;  from  a  brass  rod, 
placed  across  the  window,  hung  white,  dotted  swiss 
sash  curtains,  and  built  into  the  wall  was  a  wardrobe 
for  clothes.  A  few  inexpensive  pictures  adorned  the 
walls,  among  the  number  being  a  blue  and  white  motto, 
which  read :  "Born  to  Serve." 

Two  months  had  passed  since  Frank  had  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  Woods'  Road  in  front  of  the  shack 
and  watched  the  figure  of  his  unbidden  guest  of  that 
memorable  night  mingle  and  disappear  among  the  trees 
and  heavy  foliage  of  the  woods.  He  did  not  tarry  long 
after  she  had  gone,  but  closed  up  the  shack  and  took 
the  midday  train  back  to  the  city,  determining  to  for 
get,  if  he  could,  his  terrible  experience  of  the  previous 
night,  the  visit  of  the  woman  and  the  conversation  he 
had  had  with  her. 

Upon  arriving  in  the  city,  he  proceeded  to  his  old 
quarters,  fully  intending  to  quarrel,  no  longer,  with 
conditions.  However,  as  he  took  up  the  routine  of 
everyday  living  he  found,  as  the  days  passed,  he  could 
not  suppress  the  spirit  of  unrest  that  was  surely  grow 
ing  upon  him.  And  it  was  this  spirit  of  unrest  which 
prompted  the  seeking  of  new  surroundings.  As  time 
went  on,  he  dimly  realized  that  his  attitude  toward 
everybody  and  everything  was  undergoing  a  decided 
change;  what  he  had  hitherto  regarded  negatively  he 
was  now  beginning  to  regard  positively.  Conditions 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Place"      75 

wherein  he  had  been  mentally  passive  he  was  now  be 
coming  mentally  active.  In  some  indescribable  way 
he  was  learning 

As  far  back  as  he  could  remember,  Frank  and  his 
mother  had  lived  alone  in  the  little  shack  in  the  woods. 
She  had  bought  it  when  he  was  a  tiny  baby,  she  had 
told  him,  and  there  the  happiest  days  of  his  life  had 
been  spent.  As  a  child  he  was  not  permitted  to  attend 
the  village  school,  his  early  education  being  undertaken 
by  his  mother.  When  he  became  old  enough  to  be 
trusted  to  travel  unaccompanied  on  the  train,  his 
mother  selected  a  school  in  a  nearby  city.  For  six 
years  he  went  to  this  school,  taking  the  early  morning 
train  and  returning  late  in  the  afternoon.  He  was  not 
considered  a  particularly  promising  student  by  his 
teachers,  possessing  but  the  intellect  of  an  ordinary, 
everyday  boy.  His  failure  to  graduate  was  a  keen  dis 
appointment  to  his  mother,  for  only  through  her  un 
complaining  self-denial  had  his  education  been  made 
possible. 

From  the  time  he  left  school  until  the  present,  he  had 
been  exceedingly  unfortunate  in  his  inability  to  hold  a 
position  after  it  had  once  been  secured.  Varied  and 
many  were  the  private  concerns  and  corporations  by 
which  he  had  been  employed,  and  yet  he  could  only 
boast  of  one  where  he  had  remained  a  year.  In  the 
others,  he  had  stayed  anywhere  from  one  day  to  six 


76  The  Success  of  Failure 

months,  and,  singularly,  he  was  not  discharged  from 
anyone  of  them  because  he  lacked  application  or  be 
cause  he  had  not  performed  his  duties  satisfactorily. 
These  constant  changes  were  not  due  to  any  fault  of 
his,  for  he  was  not  only  a  willing  and  faithful  worker, 
but  he  was  truthful  and  honest.  They  were  due,  in 
many  instances,  to  dullness  in  business,  when  an  order 
would  come  from  the  private  office  to  cut  down  ex 
penses,  which  frequently  meant  a  reduction  in  the  office 
force;  and,  as  Frank  was  usually  the  last  one  em 
ployed,  he  was  generally  the  first  to  go.  Owing  to  this 
state  of  affairs,  he  could  not  afford  to  remain  idle  and 
wait  for  the  "good  and  permanent  thing"  to  present 
itself,  but  was  forced  to  work  whenever  the  oppor 
tunity  offered.  Sometimes  he  would  substitute,  or  fill 
in,  when  some  other  man,  through  sickness — or  some 
thing  quite  as  undesirable — was  compelled  to  be  absent. 
This  might  be  for  a  day,  perhaps  a  week,  or  even 
longer ;  it  all  depended  upon  the  inability  of  the  other 
unfortunate  fellow  to  be  present.  Not  infrequently  the 
concerns  went  out  of  business  or  merged  into  other 
corporations. 

Of  the  identity  of  his  father  and  the  source  of  his 
mother's  income,  Frank  had  been  kept  in  ignorance. 
To  all  questions  relating  thereto  his  mother  had  always 
maintained  a  dignified  silence,  and  never,  in  any  way 
referred  to  the  days  previous  to  those  of  his  babyhood. 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Place"      77 

She  discouraged  the  idea  of  visitors  and.  excepting  the 
woman  who  came  every  week  to  wash  and  to  do  the 
week's  cleaning,  a  stranger  was  never  seen  around  the 
shack. 

After  her  death,  Frank,  in  his  loneliness,  searched 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  shack,  looked  through 
every  book  in  the  bookcase,  threw  everything  out  of  the 
drawers  of  her  desk  and  of  her  bureau  and  examined 
every  article  of  furniture  in  the  hope  that  he  might 
find,  concealed  somewhere,  something — an  old  letter, 
a  photograph — anything,  which  would  reveal  his  re 
lationship  to,  and  bring  him  intimately  in  touch  with, 
some  other  human-being  living  in  the  world.  He  found 
nothing.  If  there  had  been  anything,  at  any  time, 
which  could  have  been  the  means  of  telling  a  story, 
good  or  ill,  it  had  been  carefully  destroyed.  With  the 
exception  of  a  sealed  envelope  addressed  to  the  firm  of 
lawyers  whose  signature  had  always  appeared  upon 
the  face  of  his  mother's  monthly  checks  and  a  long, 
plain,  white  envelope  placed  in  the  top  drawer  of  her 
desk,  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  paper  to  be  found  any 
where.  The  long,  white  envelope  contained  two  sheets 
of  paper.  Upon  one  was  written,  in  his  mother's  strong 
hand-writing,  the  request  that  he  forward  the  letter 
addressed  to  the  attorneys ;  the  other  informed  him  that 
he  was  the  owner  of  the  shack  and  of  a  few  hundred 
dollars.  The  money  was  deposited  in  his  name  in  a 


78  The  Success  of  Failure 

savings  bank  and  had  been  saved  out  of  her  monthly 
income,  which  he  knew,  for  she  had  told  him,  would 
cease  with  her  death. 

As  he  looked  around  the  room,  after  Dorothy  left, 
he  felt  more  satisfied  with  life  than  he  had  since  his 
mother  died.  He  proceeded  to  open  his  grip  and  take 
out  the  contents,  which  he  laid  away  in  the  clean,  newly- 
papered  drawers.  While  he  was  thus  occupied,  there 
was  little  to  indicate  in  Frank's  clean  shaven  face  any 
cause  for  Dorothy  to  question  the  advisability  of  admit 
ting  him  into  her  "home-living  place."  Although 
habitually  wearing  an  expression  of  anxious  uncer 
tainty,  the  face  is  one  of  undoubted  refinement.  Below 
the  dark-brown  hair  covering  his  head,  and  which  is 
slightly  gray  at  the  temples,  is  a  forehead  seamed  with 
deep  lines,  which  should  not  be  there.  They  are  not  the 
lines  produced  by  work,  but  by  the  constant  pursuit  of 
it.  The  honest  gray  eyes,  above  which  are  black  eye 
brows,  carry  a  question,  and  ask  the  eternal  question, 
'"Why?"  The  nose  is  long  and  inclined  to  turn  under 
at  the  end,  and  the  mouth  beneath,  though  large,  is 
clean  and  as  sensitive  as  a  woman's.  The  chin  pro 
trudes  a  little  and  rounds  off  somewhat  at  the  sides. 

After  placing  the  now  empty  grip  in  the  wardrobe, 
he  concluded  he  would  not  wait  any  longer  for  his 
trunk  to  arrive,  but  would  ask,  as  he  went  out,  the 
pleasant  little  lady,  whom  he  had  met  that  morning,  to 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Place'      79 

see  that  it  was  properly  located  when  it  came.  Open 
ing  the  door,  he  stepped  into  the  hall  and  stood  there 
for  a  moment  or  so  trying  to  determine  in  which  room 
he  had  seen  her.  Dorothy  heard  him,  and  divining  the 
cause  of  his  hesitation  came  quickly  from  her  room  in 
the  front,  and  inquired : 

"Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,  Mr.  Thompson?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  and  then  stopped  abruptly  for,  as 
she  approached,  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  dignified, 
little  lady  might  consider  his  request  impertinent. 

Wondering  at  his  hesitation  and  fearing  it  might  be 
due  to  something  not  altogether  satisfactory  in  his 
room,  Dorothy  stepped  into  the  doorway  and  looked 
around.  As  she  did  so,  the  light  from  the  window 
fell  full  upon  her  face  and  revealed,  to  Frank's  amaze 
ment,  its  pale,  tranquil  beauty.  He  thought,  as  she 
waited  for  him  to  continue,  he  had  never  seen  so  beau 
tiful  a  face. 

Satisfying  herself  that  everything  was  as  it  should 
be,  Dorothy  looked  inquiringly  up  into  his  face. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  he  said,  "if  I  might  trouble 
you  to  see  that  my  trunk  is  placed  in  my  room  when 
it  comes." 

"It  won't  be  any  trouble,  at  all,"  she  replied  with  a 
bright  smile.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  do  it  for  you." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  taking  his  hat  from  the  bed; 
"you  are  very  kind." 


8o  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Not  at  all,"  and  turning  she  went  back  to  her  room. 
Mrs.  Gordon  was  standing  in  front  of  the  mirror  put 
ting  on  her  hat,  and,  as  the  front  door  opened  and 
closed,  she  exclaimed  indignantly: 

"I  like  that  man's  nerve !  What  right  had  he  to  ask 
you  to  look  after  his  trunk,  I'd  like  to  know?  Why 
didn't  he  stay  and  see  about  it  himself?" 

"Why,  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy  in  surprise,  "it  isn't 
any  trouble,  and  I  like  to  do  these  little  things  for 
people." 

"You  do?"  queried  Mrs.  Gordon  angrily.  "Like  to 
make  yourself  a  servant  for  a  lot  of  tramps?  I'd  like 
to  see  myself." 

"So  should  I,"  thought  Dorothy. 

"Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  severely,  turning  from 
the  mirror  and  pulling  on  her  gloves,  ''there  are  times 
when  I  feel  like  shaking  you,  and  this  is  one  of  them." 

"Why  don't  you,  then?"  asked  Dorothy,  smiling 
provokingly.  "I'll  give  you  permission." 

"It  isn't  because  you  don't  deserve  it,"  sternly  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon,  standing  at  the  table  and  looking  down 
into  Dorothy's  laughing  brown  eyes  with  a  shade  of 
anxiety  in  her  own,  "I  can  tell  you  that.  To  have  ad 
mitted  a  man  who  is  as  old  as  yourself  as  an  inmate 
into  your  'home-living  place,'  is  bad  enough,  goodness 
knowrs,  but  to  graciously  accede  to  his  request  that  you 
look  after  his  baggage,  instead  of  telling  him  to  see  the 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Place"      Si 

maid — well — I  don't  know — but  it  seems  to  me  you 
must  be  lacking  in  ordinary  common  sense." 

"Ordinary  common  sense/'  repeated  Dorothy  teas- 
ingly.  "That  isn't  so  bad,  Margaret.  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  say  something  ever  so  much  worse. 
Don't  you  know  that  common  sense  is  always  uncom 
mon  and  is  not  supposed  to  be  possessed  by  ordinary 
common  people.  I  don't  feel,  after  all,  I  am  so  differ 
ent  from  the  rest  of  the  world." 

At  Dorothy's  last  words,  Mrs.  Gordon's  face  relaxed 
and  her  lips  parted  and  extended  into  an  amused  smile. 

"You  are,  nevertheless,  Dorothy,  very  different/'  she 
said,  touching  caressingly  with  her  gloved  fingers  the 
crown  of  light-brown  hair  which  framed  the  teasing, 
laughing  face  up-raised  to  hers;  "and  for  that  reason 
you  should  possess  that  extraordinary  uncommon 
thing,  common  sense." 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  laughingly  replied  Dorothy.  "The 
trouble  is  you  fail  to  recognize  it.  Your  vision  must  be 
at  fault." 

"That  is  possible,  of  course,"  admitted  Mrs.  Gordon, 
smiling  enigmatically. 

"But  not  probable,"  returned  Dorothy. 

"I  refuse  to  say,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  as  she  pro 
ceeded  on  her  way  out.  "However,  I  would  suggest, 
hereafter,  that  all  reference  to  baggage  and  other  such 
things  should  be  referred  to  Bertha,  if  your  'home- 


82  The  Success  of  Failure 

living'  people  do  not  wish  to  remain  and  take  care  of 
it  themselves." 

Dorothy  was  about  to  make  some  laughing  reply 
when  the  telephone  bell  rang.  With  a  murmured 
apology,  she  hastily  brushed  past  Mrs.  Gordon  and 
ran  out  into  the  hall  and  took  down  the  receiver. 

"Hallo,"  she  said. 

"Is  this  you,  Dorothy?"  asked  the  voice  of  Doctor 
Ross  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  Bob,"  she  replied.  "How  are  you  this 
morning?" 

"Don't  tell  him  I  am  here,"  whispered  Mrs.  Gordon 
from  the  doorway. 

Dorothy  turned  her  head  and  with  a  nod  smilingly 
assented  as  she  listened  to  his  voice  telling  her  he  felt 
very  well  and  would  be  around  in  his  automobile  short 
ly  after  office  hours  to  take  her  for  a  ride  that  evening. 

"That's  awful  good  of  you,  Bob.  I  will  be  ready  and 
won't  keep  you  waiting  a  minute." 

"All  right,  then,"  he  said,  "I  will  be  around  about 
half-past  eight.  Goodby." 

"Goodby,"  she  answered  back  and  hung  up  the  re 
ceiver. 

"What  did  he  want,  Dorothy?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon, 
leaving  the  doorway  and  leaning  up  against  the  wall. 

"Oh,  he  just  called  me  up  to  tell  me  he  was  coming 
around  this  evening  to  take  me  for  a  ride." 


Frank  Installed  in  the  "Home-living  Place"      83 

"I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  thoughtfully,  "Bob 
would  not  call  here  for  you  in  his  automobile." 

"Why,  Margaret?"  innocently  inquired  Dorothy. 

"For  by  so  doing,  he  places  your  reputation  in  the 
mouths  of  the  evil-minded  public." 

"And  so  you  think  the  evil-minded  public  is  worthy 
of  consideration,  do  you?"  smilingly  asked  Dorothy. 
"I  must  say  I  do  not.  How  I  live  is  of  more  import 
ance  to  me  than  what  it  thinks,  what  it  says  or  what  it 
does." 

"That  may  be  all  very  well,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon, 
slowly  making  her  way,  followed  by  Dorothy,  along 
the  hall  toward  the  door,  "but  it  has  been  my  expe 
rience  if  one  does  not  consider  public  opinion,  it  is 
not  long  before  public  opinion  is  considering  you  and 
inquisitively  concerning  herself  with  the  way  in  which 
you  conduct  your  life.  If  you  refuse  to  satisfy  her 
curiosity — determined  to  accept  no  standard  of  living 
but  your  own — with  brazen  effrontery  she  looks  with 
prying  eyes  into  your  most  sacred  affairs  and  then 
hastens  to  reveal,  with  a  lying  tongue,  what  she  thinks 
she  has  found  there.  No  matter  how  pure,  simple  or 
true  the  life,  if  she  cannot  know  all  about  it,  or  if  the 
outward  living  of  that  life  differs  in  many  respects 
from  what  is  usually  considered  proper  and  right,  she 
believes,  and  does  not  hesitate  to  relate,  there  must  be 
some  unworthy  motive  for  keeping  her  in  the  dark,  and 


84  The  Success  of  Failure 

it  is  not  long  before  the  object  of  her  scrutiny  is  pay 
ing  the  penalty." 

"I  care  nothing  for  public  opinion,"  replied  Dorothy, 
with  an  emphatic  stamp  of  her  tiny  foot.  ''Public 
opinion  is  for  cowards ;  I  have  never  subscribed  to  her 
and  I  never  will." 

''Very  well,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  placing  her 
arm  affectionately  around  the  determined,  little  figure. 
"I  certainly  hope  it  may  be  your  good  fortune  to  have 
her  pass  you  by  and  that  a  whiff  of  her  foul  breath  may 
never  come  near  you." 

"She  may  come  or  stay  away,  I  care  nothing  for 
her,"  indifferently  replied  Dorothy. 

"Well,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  love  you,  you  dear, 
little  soul,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  stooping  and  tenderly 
kissing  the  firm-set  lips,  "I  hope  she  stays  away." 

As  Mrs.  Gordon  finished  speaking,  Dorothy's  face 
lost  the  look  of  indifference  and  into  it  there  came  one 
of  concern,  and  she  said : 

"Now,  don't  go  and  worry  about  me ;  I'm  all  right." 

"Indeed  you  are,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  as 
she  went  downstairs.  "It's  the  world  that  is  all  wrong. 
Goodby.  Come  over  to  dinner  tomorrow  night." 

"I  will.    Goodby,"  called  Dorothy  after  her. 

With  a  smile  and  a  farewell  wave  of  her  hand,  Mrs. 
Gordon  proceeded  down  the  stairs,  and  Dorothy  went 
back  into  her  "home-living  place." 


CHAPTER  VI 

DOCTOR   ROSS   AND   DOROTHY   GO   FOR   THEIR   RIDE 

"T  T  AND  me  my  hat  first,  Bertha/'  said  Dorothy,  hold- 
1  1  ing  out  her  hand,  "and  then  answer  the  tele 
phone.  If  it  is  the  doctor,  tell  him  not  to  trouble  to 
come  up,  for  I  shall  be  right  down." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  it's  the  doctor,"  said  Bertha,  returning 
a  few  moments  later. 

"Very  well,  help  me  on  with  my  coat,"  and  Dorothy 
slipped  her  arms  into  its  sleeves.  Buttoning  it  up,  she 
told  Bertha  she  might  have  the  evening  off.  Then 
picking  up  her  gloves,  which  were  lying  on  the  top  of 
the  bureau,  she  pulled  them  on  as  she  hurried  out. 
Doctor  Ross  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

'T  trust  I  didn't  keep  you  waiting  long,  Bob,"  was 
her  greeting. 

"You  never  do,  Dorothy,"  replied  Doctor  Ross  smil 
ing.  "In  that  respect  you  are  an  exceptional  woman." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  she  as  they  left  the  building. 

They  were  soon  comfortably  seated,  and  John,  who 
had  received  his  instructions,  started  the  car.  As  it 

85 


86  The  Success  of  Failure 

turned  the  corner  and  sped  up  the  broad  avenue, 
Dorothy  asked : 

"Where  are  we  going  tonight,  Bob?" 

"Not  any  particular  place,  unless  you  have  some  spe 
cial  one  you  care  to  suggest." 

"No,"  replied  Dorothy,  settling  herself  back  a  trifle 
wearily  in  her  seat,  "I  can't  think  of  any  special  place ; 
all  places  are  alike  to  me." 

"Was  today  an  unusually  hard  day,  Dorothy?"  the 
doctor  asked  solicitously. 

"Not  particularly  so.    What  made  you  ask  that?" 

"You  appear  tired." 

"Well,"  she  confessed,  "I  do  feel  a  little  tired.  How 
ever,  the  ride  in  the  cool  air  and  your  sympathetic  pres 
ence  beside  me  will  soon  dissipate  that." 

"I  hope  so.  How  is  everything  progressing  at  the 
'home-living  place  ?' " 

"So  far,  very  satisfactorily.  I  have  heard  no  com 
plaints." 

"They  will  come  in  time,  never  fear,"  he  mentally 
commented.  Aloud,  he  asked  : 

"Any  new  applicants  ?" 

"One.    He  came  this  morning." 

"From  the  League?" 

"Yes." 

"What  kind  of  a  youngster  is  the  new  one?" 

"I  am  afraid,  Bob,"  replied  she  hesitatingly,  "you 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride      87 

would  hardly  call  him  a  youngster.  He  is  older,  very 
much  older,  than  the  other  kiddies." 

"How  much  older?" 

"A  good  many  years,  I  should  say.  He  is  fully  as  old 
as  I  am." 

"What  sort  of  a  looking  chap  is  he?" 

A  puzzled  look  past  over  the  face  of  Dorothy.  Then 
she  laughed  and  said : 

"I  really  couldn't  say,  Bob,  I  paid  so  little  attention 
to  his  appearance.  His  manners,  I  remember,  were 
good,  and  gave  me  the  impression  it  would  be  safe  to 
admit  him  into  my  'home-living  place.' " 

"Well,  never  mind  about  his  looks;  they  are  not 
necessary.  His  age  is  sufficient  to  attract  Margaret's 
well-meaning  but,  nevertheless,  impertinent  .interfer 
ence  in  your  direction."  And  Doctor  Ross  leaned  back 
in  his  seat  and  laughed  softly.  "I  wonder,"  continued 
he,  "how  much  sleep  she  will  get  when  she  learns  you 
have  admitted  a  real  live  man  into  your  'home-living 
place.'  " 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Dorothy  laugh 
ing.  "I  am  going  to  dine  with  her  and  Douglas  to 
morrow  night." 

"You  are!"  exclaimed  the  doctor  incredulously. 
"You're  surely  not  going  to  walk  into  that  hive  of  ques 
tions  voluntarily?" 

"I  am,  though." 


88  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  arrange  to  take  dinner  over 
there,  too,  for  my  presence  may  possibly  guarantee 
your  escape  with  few  injuries.  Otherwise,  it  is  doubt 
ful  if  you  would  not  literally  be  battered  up  and  the 
reputation  of  the  'home-living  place'  be  severely  dam 
aged." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Bob/'  said 
Dorothy  with  feigned  severity. 

"Well,  I  am  not.  This  solicitousness,  which  is  un 
called  for  and  unsought,  is  becoming  intolerable.  She, 
apparently,  is  incapable  of  comprehending  for  herself 
or  others  any  other  existence  but  that  subscribed  to  by 
the  conventional  world.  Its  mandatory  laws,  in  her 
opinion,  must  be  obeyed ;  its  rulings  must  be  followed 
and  its  voice,  right  or  wrong,  must  always  be  heard." 

"Personally,  I  feel  very  sorry  for  Margaret,"  said 
Dorothy,  "for  she  certainly  spends  a  great  deal  of  her 
time  worrying  needlessly  about  other  people  and  their 
affairs.  And  I  can't  help  believing,  in  a  way,  it  is  un 
selfish  solicitude,  too." 

"It  may  be.  It  is  I  know  unnecessary,"  replied 
Doctor  Ross,  gazing  thoughtfully  ahead.  "One  thing 
is  evident,  however,  and  that  is  her  utter  inability  to 
appreciate  the  right  of  everyone  to  select  the  body  of 
water  upon  which  his,  or  her,  vessel  shall  sail.  Some 
people  are  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  placid  waters  of 
the  Lakes  of  Convention  and  upon  them  make  their 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride     89 

homes.  Contentedly  sailing  around  their  peaceful  bor 
ders,  they  never  care  to  venture  their  craft  beyond  the 
narrow  and  limited  confines  of  the  lakes.  Margaret  is 
one  of  these.  Others,  more  curious,  become  dissatis 
fied  with  the  quiet  waters  of  the  Lakes  of  Convention 
and  leave  them  for  the  more  troubled  waters  of  the 
constant  rushing  Rivers  of  Interrogation.  Here, 
launchel  forth,  they  set  their  sails.  But  alas !  as  they 
sail,  the  gaze  of  their  inquiring  eyes  becomes  covetous, 
and  they  grudge,  one  to  the  other,  the  space  required 
to  safely  navigate  their  barks.  Dorothy,  you  are  one 
of  these.  And  the  others,  many  of  them,  long  since 
grown  weary  of  the  former  and  unsatisfied  with  the 
latter,  turn  to  the  waters  of  the  Great  Sea  of  Life. 
Scorning  its  gigantic  waves  and  the  fierceness  of  its 
sweeping  gales  and  caring  naught  for  its  tossings  and 
crossings,  they  thrust  forth  upon  that  mighty  deep  to 
learn  what  it  alone  can  teach  them.  As  they  embark 
their  questioning  voices  can  be  plainly  heard,  but  later, 
as  their  vessels  continue  to  ride  the  waves,  they  are 
hushed  and  soon  are  lost  in  the  loud  roar  of  the  wind 
which  sweeps  over  the  Ocean  of  Experience.  Dorothy, 
I  am  one  of  these." 

Dorothy  sighed  deeply.    Bob,  to  her,  at  times,  was 
such  an  inexplicable  being. 

The  sigh  did  not  escape  the  doctor,  and  he  asked 
tenderlv : 


po  The  Success  of  Failure 

"What  makes  you  sigh,  Dorothy?" 

"Because,  Bob,  you  are,  at  times,  so  hard  to  under 
stand/' 

Doctor  Ross  laughed  as  he  asked:  "Do  you  really 
think  so?" 

"I  certainly  do,"  she  replied  decidedly.  "I  have  great 
trouble  sometimes  in  determining  just  what  you  mean." 

"I  am  glad  it  is  only  sometimes,"  said  the  doctor, 
possessing  himself  of  one  of  her  small  hands. 

"So  am  I,  Bob,"  replied  she,  permitting  her  hand  to 
remain  quietly  in  his. 

"Never  mind,"  said  he  assuringly,  "a  time  will 
come  when  you  will  never  fail  to  understand  me." 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  and  Dorothy  shook  her  head 
doubtfully. 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  because  your  life  is  so 
different  from  mine.  You  seem  to  live  such  a  purpose 
ful  life." 

"And  you  do  not,  is  that  it?"  laughingly  inquired  the 
doctor. 

"I  don't  mean  that,  exactly,"  irritably  replied  Dor 
othy,  trying  to  withdraw  her  hand  and  failing  in  the 
attempt. 

"That's  not  surprising,  is  it?"  asked  the  doctor  teas- 
ingly.  "I  am  a  physician  and  you  are  a  little  landlady." 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride      91 

"I  can't  see  that  that  in  any  way  affects  the  situation 
— they  both  involve  service." 

"That  is  true,"  admitted  the  doctor.  "The  service, 
nevertheless,  you  must  own,  is  very  different/' 

"That's  just  it.  Yours  is  a  service  based  upon 
knowledge,  while  mine  is  one  caused,  more  or  less,  by 
accident." 

"And,  consequently,"  said  the  doctor,  "you  conclude 
the  outcome  of  your  service  is  not  always  satisfying.' 

"Well,  I  cannot  say  it  is  altogether  so,"  she  reluc 
tantly  admitted. 

"Have  you  sought  to  find  the  reason?"  sympathetic 
ally  asked  he. 

"Oh,  yes,"  hopelessly,  "but  one  might  just  as  well  try 
to  find  a  ray  of  light  in  the  dark  as  to  seek  this  hidden 
thing  which,  evidently,  is  not  to  be  found." 

"What  makes  you  think  it  is  not  to  be  found?" 

"Because  of  humanity's  wants." 

"You're  swimming  in  deep  water,  Dorothy,"  said 
the  doctor  warningly. 

"I  know  I  am,  Bob,  and  I'd  dearly  love  to  see  the 
shore  and  find  a  landing-place." 

"There  is  one  waiting  for  you  now,  Dorothy,"  said 
the  doctor,  his  voice  unutterably  tender,  and  he  pressed 
the  little  hand  he  held  within  his  own.  "It  has  been 
waiting  here  for  you  for  a  long,  long  time,  and  its 
owner  would  only  be  too  pleased  to  have  you  avail 


92  The  Success  of  Failure 

yourself  of  its  protecting  shelter,  its  great  love  and 
boundless  peace." 

"I  should  like  to,  Bob,  I  really  should,  but  I  am 
afraid  to  take  the  risk." 

"Take  what  risk,  Dorothy  ?  I  don't  quite  understand 
you." 

"Myself.  I  am  afraid  to  risk  myself,  Bob.  I  am 
afraid  the  owner  of  that  landing-place  would  eventu 
ally  control  my  every  thought  and  deed  and  I  should, 
in  time,  become  perfectly  satisfied  with  its  cool  shade, 
its  pleasant  walks  and  quiet  resting  places.  I  should, 
I  fear,  lose  myself  and  my  identity  would  gradually  be 
absorbed  in  the  greater  identity  which  I  should  find 
there." 

"I  assure  you,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor  kindly, 
"your  fears  are  groundless.  What  is  really  ours  can 
never  be  lost.  Only  the  material  things  which  we,  in 
our  foolishness  call  Mine,  we  eventually  lose.  But 
those  are  only  the  borrowed  garments  in  which  are 
enfolded  our  lesser  selves.  As  the  years  go  by  and  we 
become  wiser,  a  greater  self  takes  possession  and  re 
places  that  lesser  self,  and  its  tattered,  worn-out  gar 
ments  drop  away,  one  by  one,  and  we  recognize  and 
gladly  wear  those  that  truly  belong  to  us.  The  things 
of  yesterday  are  forgotten,  and  it  is  well  that  they 
should  be,  for  they  are  but  the  shadows  of  the  things 
of  today.  These  can  never  be  lost,  can  never  be  worn 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride     93 

out,  for  they  are  always  abiding  and  forever  inde 
structible." 

Dorothy  shook  her  head  helplessly  but  made  no 
reply. 

"If  you  should  become  my  wife,"  resumed  he,  "it 
would  not  mean  that  we  should  lose  our  individual 
identity,  but  it  would  mean  that  we  would  be  more 
completely  identified  with  each  other.  That  is,  it  would 
simply  be  the  blending  of  yourself  and  myself  in  our- 
self ;  it  would  be  the  union  of  You  and  I  into  We,  and 
our  mutual  efforts  would  be  so  directed  that  the  happi 
ness  of  the  You  and  the  I  would  be  assured." 

Impatiently  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  Dorothy 
laid  it  over  the  other  one  lying  quietly  in  her  lap.  She 
knew  from  experience  the  futility  of  trying  to  argue 
with  Bob,  so  she  continued  to  remain  silent. 

After  they  had  travelled  some  distance  without 
speaking,  Doctor  Ross,  bending  his  head  down  until  it 
reached  hers,  asked : 

"What  possible  objection  can  you  have  to  such  a 
union  ?*' 

Forced  to  reply,  Dorothy  straightened  herself  up  in 
her  seat,  and  said : 

"I  have  only  one,  Bob,  but  that  one  is  sufficient  to 
make  such  a  union,  at  the  present  time,  an  impossi 
bility.  I  fear,  nay,  I  know,  it  would  utterly  interfere 
with  my  service." 


94  The  Success  of  Failure 

"What  nonsense!  What  ever  put  such  an  idea  as 
that  into  your  head?" 

"It  would,  nevertheless,"  replied  she  doggedly. 

"You  are  altogether  wrong,  Dorothy.  Instead  of 
interfering  with  your  service  it  would  enhance  its  value 
a  hundred-fold.  Indeed,  it  is  a  barren  service  in  which 
Love  is  not  admitted." 

"I  am  sorry,  Bob,  but,  just  now,  I  cannot  accept 
your  view  of  the  situation." 

"Not  now,  perhaps,"  he  reluctantly  admitted;  "but," 
exultingly,  "the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  you  will — 
nay,  when  you  must — accept  the  situation  as  it  is." 

"As  it  is !    What  do  you  mean,  Bob?" 

"I  mean  by  the  barrenness  and  unsatisfying  results 
of  your  service " 

"It  is  useless  to  continue  the  conversation  along  this 
line,"  she  interrupted  impatiently.  She  was  now  thor 
oughly  annoyed.  "I  cannot  agree  with  you.  Person 
ally,  I  do  not  consider  Service  and  Love  'good  mixers.' 
Separately  they  work  very  well ;  but  when  hitched  to 
gether  they  make  an  obstinate  pair,  and  one  not  easily 
managed.  If  one  or  the  other  does  not  bolt  when  di 
rected,  by  a  gentle  pull  of  the  rein,  to  move  ever  so 
slightly  from  their  chosen  place  in  the  road,  they  show 
their  aversion  for  each  other  by  balking  when  they  are 
called  upon  to  draw  humanity's  wagon  up  some  steep 
hill  or  over  some  piece  of  extraordinarily  rough  road. 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride      95 

As  they  reach  the  foot  of  the  hill  or  the  piece  of  rough 
road,  they  come  to  a  halt.  Service  concludes  here  is  a 
place  where  they  should  pull  together,  and  states  that 
fact  to  her  neighbor  on  the  other  side  of  the  tongue. 
Love  surveys  the  ground  over  which  Service  would 
travel,  and  shakes  his  head —  He  fails  to  agree.  'They 
should/  he  says,  'continue  along  the  smooth,  if  longer, 
road,  and  thus  spare  the  occupants  of  the  wagon  the 
bumps  and  jolts  which  they  cannot  hope  to  escape  if 
they  travel  the  road  selected  by  Service.  He  also  points 
out  the  possibility  of  someone  falling  from  the  wagon 
and  getting  hurt  and  might,  in  the  eagerness  of  Service 
to  reach  the  top  of  the  hill,  be  overlooked  and  left  at 
the  roadside  to  die/  Service,  disgusted  with  what  she 
calls  'Love's  lack  of  backbone,'  determines  to  draw  the 
wagon  up  the  hill  alone,  and  despite  Love's  protests 
leaves  him  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Service,  on  the  con 
trary,  is  not  so  greatly  concerned  about  the  occupants 
of  the  wagon ;  her  chief  concern  is  to  reach  the  desired 
destination  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  Her  busi 
ness  is  'to  get  there/  regardless  of  cost.  'What/  argues 
she,  'does  it  matter  if  one  or  two  do  drop  off ;  there  are 
always  plenty  only  too  anxious  to  fill  their  seats  in  the 
valley  below?  And/  concludes  she,  'if  they  cannot 
hang  on  to  their  seats  they  deserve  to  lose  them, 
anyway.' '; 

"Poor  Love,"  said  the  doctor  sighing. 


96  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  cannot  see  that  Love  is  any  worse  off  than 
Service,"  said  Dorothy,  who  had  regained  her  good 
humor.  "Indeed,  I  think  my  sympathies  are  often 
times  more  with  the  latter  than  they  are  with  the 
former." 

"Poor  Service,  too,  then,"  he  said  dolefully. 

"It's  too  bad,  Bob,  but  it's  no  use;  they  will  not 
agree." 

"Poor  Love,"  again  said  Doctor  Ross  with  a  sigh. 

"Why  do  you  so  greatly  sympathize  with  Love  in 
stead  of  with  Service?"  demanded  Dorothy.  "I  am 
sure,  if  anything,  he  is  the  more  refractory  of  the  two." 

"He  would  not  be,"  mused  the  doctor,  "if  he  could 
prevail  upon  Service  to  banish  the  tongue  which  sep 
arates  them." 

"But  why  do  you  feel  so  sorry  for  Love  ?"  persisted 
Dorothy. 

"Because  he  is  so  often  given  credit  with  being  some 
thing  he  is  not.  He  is  supposed  to  be  blind  when  he 
has  excellent  eye-sight ;  he  is  supposed  to  be  deaf  when 
his  hearing  is  acute ;  he  is  supposed  to  be  dumb  when 
from  his  lips  flow  words  of  no  light  meaning.  He  is 
supposed  to  be  old  and  of  unsound  mind,  when  his 
youth  is  everlasting  and  his  wisdom  that  of  the  ages 
past  and  of  those  to  come ;  he  is  supposed  to  be  a  beg 
gar,  when  he  is  a  king  reigning  over  an  eternal  king 
dom.  vainly  he  pleads  with  Service  to  be  its  queen, 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride      97 

but  she,  owing  to  her  material  blindness,  her  worldly 
deafness,  her  ceaseless  chatter  and  her  boasted 
ephemeral  knowledge,  is  totally  unable  to  recognize  the 
king  in  her  wooer  and  to  appreciate  the  kingdom  over 
which  he  reigns/' 

"Poor  Service,"  said  Dorothy  sarcastically,  "she  is 
terribly  afflicted." 

"She  is  terribly  handicapped,"  retorted  the  doctor. 

"Then  why,"  asked  Dorothy  impatiently,  "does  he 
stand  protesting  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  when  his  place 
should  be  at  the  other  side  of  the  tongue  helping  her 
to  draw  the  load  up  the  hill  ?" 

"Because,"  slowly  and  emphatically  replied  the  doc 
tor,  "the  province  of  Love  is  to  rule  and  that  of  Service 
to  obey.  Indeed,  if  he  should  consent  to  travel  by  her 
side  up  the  hill,  some  great  change  would  take  place 
and  his  name  would  then  be  Indifference.  The  work 
of  Love,  Dorothy,  is  to  make  the  crooked  path  and  the 
steep  places  straight  and  to  smooth  the  roughened 
road." 

"Why  doesn't  he,  then  ?"  sharply  asked  she. 

"He  does.  Surely  he  is  not  to  blame  if  Service  per 
sists  in  selecting  her  own  road,  nor  for  the  fact  that 
she  is  bound  to  get  stuck  before  she  is  half-way  up 
the  hill." 

Dorothy's  response  was  an  exclamation  of  impa 
tience. 


98  The  Success  of  Failure 

Doctor  Ross  replied  by  reaching  over  and  taking  the 
small  rebellious  hands  that  refused  to  keep  still  and 
held  them  firmly  in  his  own,  and  musingly  continued : 

"Poor  Service,  you  started  off  proudly  enough,  so 
sure  were  you  you  could  reach  the  top  alone ;  but  you 
had  hardly  left  Love  behind  before  you  began  to  notice 
the  tongue  at  your  side  was  weighing  heavily  upon  you 
and  hindering  to  a  great  extent  the  pulling  of  the  load. 
The  creaking,  creaking  of  the  wheels  as  they  revolve 
slowly  around  is  beginning  to  \vear  upon  your  nerves 
and  causes  you  to  become  somewhat  irritable  and,  as 
you  slacken  your  pace  a  little  to  glance  up  the  hill,  you 
note  with  grave  apprehension  it  is  steeper  and  longer 
than  you  believed,  and  you  are  far  from  the  top.  Hu 
manity's  wagon,  which  seemed  so  easy  to  draw  when 
Love  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  tongue,  is  now  be 
coming  harder  and  harder  to  pull  along — and  my, 
how  tired  you  are ! 

"With  aching  head  and  muscles  so  strained  they  are 
beginning  to  assert  themselves,  you  feel  keenly  what 
you  consider  is  'Love's  base  desertion  of  you/  That 
you  may  have  deserted  him  does  not  for  a  moment 
occur  to  you.  Incensed  that  he  should  have  left  you 
to  pull  the  load  alone,  you  determine  to  show  him  that 
you  are  capable  of  doing  it  and  put  forth  an  extra 
effort.  This  causes  you  to  stumble  and  fall.  Slightly 
perturbed,  but  in  no-wise  discouraged,  you  pick  your- 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride     99 

self  up  and,  shaking  the  harness  in  place,  pull  long  and 
hard  to  start  the  wagon  ;  but,  to  your  dismay,  it  refuses 
to  budge.  Stuck  you  are, — and  not  half-way  up  the 
hill.  After  repeated  efforts,  you  half-way  conclude 
there  is  but  one  thing  left  to  do,  and  that  is  to  turn 
around  and  go  back.  How  you  hate  to  do  that,  so  you 
give  another  long  and  hard  pull; — but  to  no  use. 
There  is  no  help  for  it;  back  you  must  go.  And  so 
you  turn  around  and  go  back.  But,  strange  to  say, 
the  road  does  not  seem  the  same,  and  you  wonder,  as 
you  jog  along,  how  you  could  have  failed  to  notice  the 
sickly-looking  trees  at  either  side  and  the  brownish- 
colored  grass,  with  ne'er  a  green  blade,  covering  their 
roots ;  also,  how  the  many  strangely  appearing  objects 
which  line  the  wayside  could  have  escaped  your  ob 
servation.  These,  curiously,  instead  of  arousing  your 
interest  fill  you  with  a  vague  dread,  and  with  head 
averted  you  hasten  on  anxiously  eager  to  reach  the 
bottom  of  the  hill.  Here  you  are  met  by  Love,  who, 
without  a  word,  takes  his  place  at  the  other  side  of  the 
tongue,  and  humanity's  wagon  quietly  proceeds  along 
the  road  selected  by  Love,  the  only  one  by  which  it 
can  safely  travel." 

As  the  doctor  finished  speaking,  he  released  Doro 
thy's  hands  and  drawing  them  back,  she  said : 

"I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  Bob,  but  let  us  change  the 
conversation." 


ioo  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Very  well,  Dorothy/'  replied  the  doctor,  stifling  a 
sigh,  "what  shall  it  be?" 

"Tell  me  about  your  work,  Bob.  In  your  profes 
sion  each  day  must  bring  you  some  new  and  inter 
esting  feature." 

"They  are  not  so  new  and  interesting  to  the  phy 
sician  as  they  are  to  the  laity.  You  see,  he  beholds  them 
in  all  their  nakedness ;  they  stand  before  him  denuded 
of  all  their  high-sounding  and  manifold  names,  which 
so  befog  the  mind  of  the  laity,  and  are  recognized  by 
him  to  be  what  they  really  are.  Indeed,  before  he  at 
tempts  a  diagnosis  they  are  stripped  of  everything  that 
would  prevent  a  cure." 

"I  see." 

"No,  you  don't,  Dorothy.    I  only  wish  you  did." 

"Well,  I  am  trying  to,"  quickly  retorted  she.  "That 
ought  to  satisfy  you." 

"Nevertheless,  it  does  not." 

"Well,  it  should.  Anyway,  I  think  it  is  time  we 
turned  around  and  went  back.  John,"  directed  she, 
"when  we  come  to  the  next  block  turn  the  car  around 
and  go  back." 

John  deigned  no  answer,  but  passed  the  next  block 
and  went  straight  on. 

Thinking  he  had  not  heard  her,  she  repeated  her 


Doctor  Ross  and  Dorothy  Go  for  Their  Ride    101 

order  in  a  louder  tone  of  voice,  but  this  also  failed  and 
the  car  sped  on.  She  then  leaned  over  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm,  and  to  this,  too,  he  failed  to  respond. 
As  the  car  continued  to  go  on,  she  looked  enquiringly 
at  Doctor  Ross,  and  asked : 

"What  does  this  mean  ?" 

"I'll  ask  him  and  see.  John,  did  you  not  hear  Miss 
Richardson  tell  you  to  turn  the  car  around  and  go 
back  a  few  minutes  ago  ?" 

"I  did,  sir,"  replied  John,  much  to  Dorothy's  aston 
ishment. 

"And  you  refused  to  do  it  ?" 

"I  did,  sir." 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  did  not  order  me  to  do  so,  sir." 

"And  you  refuse  to  take  orders  from  anyone  but  me, 
is  that  it?" 

"I  do,  sir." 

"You  are  an  exceptional  servant,  John,"  replied  Doc 
tor  Ross,  a  note  of  appreciation  in  his  voice. 

"Decidedly  so,"  assented  Dorothy.  "However,  I 
should  think  you  would  find  that  sort  of  thing  rather 
provoking  and  embarrassing  at  times." 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  have,"  replied  the  doctor.  Then 
turning  to  John,  he  said : 


IO2  The  Success  of  Failure 

"At  the  next  corner  you  may  turn  the  car  around 
and  we  will  go  back." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

At  the  corner  the  car  turned  around  and  they  were 
soon  speeding  homewards,  Dorothy  sitting  quietly  back 
in  her  seat  and  the  doctor  beside  her  wrapped  in 
thought. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MRS.    ARCHER   RECOGNIZES   AN   OLD   FRIEND 

"1\/IRS*  ^RCHER>"  saici  Doctor  Ross  from  the  door- 
1V1  way,  his  hat  in  one  hand  and  an  open  telegram 
in  the  other,  "I  expect  an  out-of-town  patient  in  this 
morning.  If  she  should  arrive  before  I  return  make 
her  as  comfortable  as  possible.  Kindly  file  this  away," 
and  he  gave  her  the  telegram. 

"Very  well,  doctor.    What  time  do  you  expect  her?" 

"It's  all  there,"  he  said,  indicating  by  a  movement  of 
his  head  the  telegram  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  all  right.  Is  there  anything  else  you  wish  me 
to  attend  to  while  you  are  away?" 

"I  think  not,"  he  replied,  glancing  at  his  watch,  "ex 
cepting,  of  course,  the  regular  correspondence." 

Mrs.  Archer  nodded  understandingly  and  folded  up 
the  telegram  and  laid  it  under  a  paper-weight  lying  at 
one  side  of  her  desk. 

"Well,  I  must  be  off,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  turned 
and  hurried  out. 

The  office-door  had  hardly  closed  upon  him  before 
Mrs.  Archer,  with  light,  quick  footsteps,  walked  over 

103 


104  The  Success  of  Failure 

to  the  window  and,  concealed  behind  the  curtain, 
watched  him  as  he  ran  down  the  steps  and  took  his 
seat  in  the  automobile.  The  car  started,  and  she 
turned  away  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips  and,  gathering 
up  the  neat  pile  of  opened,  unanswered  letters  that  was 
lying  upon  the  doctor's  desk,  she  exclaimed : 

"What  a  man  he  is,  and  what  a  privilege  it  is  to 
work  for  him!" 

The  more  urgent  letters,  she  knew,  the  doctor  always 
put  on  the  top,  and  these  she  proceeded  to  answer  first. 
The  contents  of  the  telegram  could  wait,  she  concluded, 
for  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  acquaint  herself 
with  the  patient's  name  when  the  bell  announced  her 
arrival. 

To  read  the  letters  and  frame  suitable  replies  took 
some  time,  but  at  last  they  were  all  answered  and,  push 
ing  her  chair  back  from  the  desk,  she  got  up  and 
walked  over  to  the  doctor's  desk  and  laid  them  upon 
it  to  await  his  signature,  which  he  regarded  as  being 
an  important  part  of  the  letter,  and  was,  therefore, 
insistent  that  all  communications  purporting  to  be  in 
dorsed  by  him,  no  matter  how  seemingly  unimportant, 
must  bear  his  personal  signature. 

Glancing  at  the  clock  on  her  way  back  to  her  desk, 
Mrs.  Archer  saw  it  was  ten  minutes  to  twelve,  and 
the  patient  had  not  arrived.  Wondering  if  she  would 
have  time  to  smooth  her  hair,  wash  her  hands  and  get 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend        105 

ready  for  luncheon  before  she  put  in  an  appearance, 
she  leisurely  shut  the  typewriter  down  in  her  desk  and 
slowly  drew  the  telegram  from  under  the  paper-weight 
and  was  about  to  unfold  it  when  the  door  of  the  doc 
tor's  office  opened  and,  raising  her  eyes  quickly,  she  en 
countered  the  startled  and  terrified  stare  of  a  pair  of 
blue  ones.  The  recognition  was  mutual,  although  it 
was  net  visible  in  the  face  nor  voice  of  Mrs.  Archer, 
who  arose  hastily  and  walked  quickly  over  to  the  side 
of  the  evidently  awe-stricken  young  woman,  asking  in 
the  composed,  quiet  voice  of  the  nurse : 

"You  are  the  out-of-town  patient  whom  Doctor  Ross 
expects,  are  you  not?' 

"Yes,  but — who — are — you "  stammered  the  pa 
tient,  her  eyes  scanning  closely  the  calm,  unruffled  face 
bending  over  her. 

"I  am  the  doctor's  nurse.   My  name  is  Mrs.  Archer." 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  greatly  resemble  someone 
whom  we  all  have  become  to  Relieve  is  dead.  My,  but 
it  was  a  shock!"  said  the  patietf:,  with  a  pitiful  attempt 
at  a  smile. 

"I  am  sorry/'  said  Mrs.  Archer, regarding  the  patient 
with  professional  solicitude.  "Won't  you  sit  down  in 
one  of  these  comfortable  chairs,"  designating  by  a 
slight  movement  of  her  hand  two  l^rge,  leather-up 
holstered  arm-chairs,  "and  make  yourself  as  com 
fortable  as  you  possibly  can  until  the  debtor  returns, 


io6  The  Stic  cess  of  Failure 

which,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be  long,  now  ?  Or,  perhaps, 
you  would  prefer  to  lie  down  here  upon  the  couch  ?" 

"Thank  you,  no;  I  have  arranged  to  take  luncheon 
with  the  doctor's  sister  and  her  husband,  and  as  it  is 
now  twelve,"  looking  at  a  watch  set  in  gold  bands  and 
fastened  securely  around  her  wrist,  "I  will  not  wait  but 
go  right  over,  and  from  there  will  telephone  Doctor 
Ross  at  just  what  hour  he  may  expect  me  this  after 
noon,"  replied  the  patient. 

"Is  there  not  something  I  can  do  for  you  ?"  anxiously 
asked  Mrs.  Archer  as  she  followed  the  playmate  of  her 
childhood  and  the  close  friend  oi  her  school-girl  days 
to  the  door. 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  patiert,  turning  and  removing 
her  hand  from  the  door-knob,  "unless,"  and  she  raised 
her  eyes  questioningly  to  M'S.  Archer's  face,  "you  can 
explain  away  that  unmistakable  likeness." 

"I  am  sorry  I  cannot,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer  regret 
fully. 

"You  must  think  rre  very  rude,"  said  the  patient, 
opening  the  door  ard  stepping  out  into  the  hall  fol 
lowed  by  Mrs.  Arcner,  "when,  after  all,  it  is  only  a 
passing  likeness,"  and  she  closely  scrutinized  the  face 
of  the  nurse.  "My  friend,  come  to  think  of  it,  would,  I 
think,  by  this  tine,  look  older  than  you  do." 

Mrs.  Archer  smiled  assuringly  down  into  the  pale 
face  with  ite  tired  lines,  and  said,  as  she  opened  the 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend        107 

street-door:  "I  will  tell  the  doctor  you  were  here  and 
communicate  your  message  to  him." 

"Thank  you,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,"  responded  she 
as  she  went  down  the  steps.  Then  entering  the  taxi- 
cab,  drawn  up  at  the  curb,  she  turned  her  head  and 
smilingly  bowed  farewell  to  Mrs.  Archer  standing  in 
the  doorway. 

Vainly  struggling  to  maintain  her  wonted  composure, 
Mrs.  Archer  closed  the  door  and  went  back  to  her 
chair  in  front  of  her  desk  and  sat  down.  The  thing 
that  she  had  dreaded  for  the  past  six  years  had  at  last 
happened,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  safety  in  the 
thought  that  she  was  actually  lost  to  all  of  her  old  asso 
ciations.  What  guarantee  had  she  now  that  the  same 
thing  might  not  occur  again  and  that  the  identity 
which  she  was  beginning  to  think  she  was  wholly  jus 
tified  in  believing  was  really  dead  and  buried,  might 
not,  at  any  time,  be  resurrected  and  brought  forth  for 
all  who  had  once  known  it  to  know  it  once  more  and 
learn  of  its  regrettable  history,  which  she,  for  Ronald's 
sake  had  striven  so  hard  to  conceal  ?  She  had  not  any. 
There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  she  concluded  after 
much  thought,  and  that  was  to  refuse  to  recognize, 
at  all  times,  the  resurrected  identity.  Dead  she  was 
to  all  who  had  ever  known  her,  and  she  determined, 
come  what  might,  she  would  so  remain ;  and  that  she 
was  Mrs.  Archer,  the  nurse,  and  not  the  lost  daughter 


io8  The  Success  of  Failure 

of  the  rich,  country  land-owner,  she  would,  forever, 
stoutly  maintain. 

Realizing  the  grave  danger  of  permitting  her 
thoughts  to  travel  backwards,  she,  with  exceptional 
strength  of  will,  mentally  closed  the  door  upon  the 
things  belonging  to  the  years  of  her  childhood  and 
young  womanhood;  and  with  the  vision  of  her  little, 
blind  son  before  her,  she  wrapped  herself  up  in  the 
present,  closed  her  eyes  to  the  past  and  refused  to  look 
into  the  future. 

When  the  bell,  announcing  luncheon  was  ready,  rang 
out  from  the  foot  of  the  basement  stairs,  Mrs.  Archer 
had  succeeded  in  banishing  from  her  mind  all  disturb 
ing  thoughts,  and  rising  from  her  chair  she  walked 
briskly  over  to  the  wash-bowl  and  bathed  her  face  and 
hands  in  clean,  cool  water.  She  dried  them,  and  then 
stepped  quickly  over  to  the  mirror  to  assure  herself 
that  her  hair  was  in  order  and,  at  the  same  time,  scan 
ning  her  face  to  see  if,  by  any  chance,  a  trace  of  her 
recent  agitation  was  left  there.  Satisfied  that  there 
was  none  and  that  she  appeared  as  usual,  she  turned 
away  and  with  the  habitual  half-smile  playing  about 
her  lips  passed  into  the  hall,  down  the  stairs  and  took 
her  seat  at  the  dining-room  table,  greeting  with  a 
cheery  smile  and  nod  the  four  persons  already  seated 
there. 

She  had  finished  eating  her  luncheon  and  was  about 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend       109 

to  follow  the  last  of  the  four  persons  up  the  stairs  when 
Doctor  Ross  walked  into  the  dining-room.  Glancing 
at  her  with  one  of  his  grave  smiles,  he  said,  surveying 
the  empty  seats,  "I  am  late." 

"Not  so  very,"  she  assured  him. 

"I  was  unavoidably  delayed,"  he  explained,  drawing 
out  his  chair  and  sitting  down  to  the  table.  "I  was 
unfortunate,  or  rather  fortunate,  enough  to  bowl  some 
poor  fellow  over  with  my  car." 

"Oh,  my !    Was  he  badly  hurt  ?" 

"No,  more  surprised,  I  should  say,"  he  replied,  be 
ginning  to  eat  the  soup  which  Maud  placed  in  front 
of  him.  "But  not  more  so  than  I  when  I  got  a  chance 
to  look  into  his  face,  for  although  he  failed  to  recognize 
me  I  knew  him  at  once.  When  he  was  a  boy,  he  and 
I  were  play-fello\vs ;  indeed,  up  to  the  time  of  his  young 
manhood  we  were  the  best  of  friends." 

"And  you  stopped  to  talk  over  old  times,  I  suppose  ?" 

"In  a  way,  yes.  But  what  really  kept  me  was  trying 
to  make  him  recollect  who  I  was,  for  he  appeared  to 
be  totally  unable  to  recall  that  such  a  person  as  I  had 
ever  existed;  and  thought  it  strange  that  I  should  be 
able  to  recognize  him  when  he  could  not  bring  to  his 
recollection  a  thing  which  would  identify  me  to  him 
or  that  could,  in  any  way,  render  my  face  familiar. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  lines  in  his  face,  I  assured 
him  I  would  know  his  honest,  gray  eyes  anywhere. 


no  The  Success  of  Failure 

The  mention  of  his  name  and  that  of  the  school  he 
attended  appeared  to  puzzle  him  even  more.  How 
ever,  after  much  persuasion  on  my  part,  he  at  last  con 
sented  to  a  renewal  of  the  acquaintanceship,  which  I 
shall  endeavor  to  have  grow  and  ripen  into  the  old 
friendship  of  long  ago." 

"In  your  enthusiasm  at  meeting  an  old  friend/'  re 
minded  Mrs.  Archer  smilingly,  "you  have  forgotten  to 
ask  about  your  out-of-town  patient." 

"Sure  enough !"  exclaimed  he.  "Did  she  arrive?  If 
so,  what  has  become  of  her  ?  There  was  no  one  in  the 
office  when  I  came  in  a  few  moments  ago." 

"She  did,  but  not  finding  you  here  she  decided  to  go 
over  to  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Gordon's,  where,  she  stated, 
she  had  promised  to  take  luncheon.  She  said,  also,  she 
would  telephone  you  from  there  just  at  what  hour  you 
might  expect  her  this  afternoon." 

"That  is  not  surprising,  for  she  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
are  great  friends." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  the  telephone  bell  rang,  and, 
with,  "That,  in  all  probability,  is  she  now,"  Mrs.  Archer 
hastily  left  the  room,  ran  up  the  stairs  and  into  the 
office.  She  took  down  the  receiver  from  its  hook  and, 
in  response  to  her  gentle  "Hallo,"  Mrs.  Gordon  impera 
tively  requested  her  to  ask  the  doctor  to  come  to  the 
telephone. 

"Wait  a  moment  and  I  will  call  him,"  replied  Mrs. 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend        in 

Archer,  placing  the  receiver  upon  the  stand,  and  going 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  called  down,  "You  are 
wanted,  doctor." 

"I'll  be  right  there,"  he  answered  back,  and  rising 
from  the  t?.'?!e  he  hurried  up  the  stairs.  "Mrs.  Leigh, 
I  suppose  ?"  he  queried  when  he  reached  the  top. 

"No,  Mrs.  Gordon." 

He  placed  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  and  Mrs.  Archer 
went  into  her  office  and  closed  the  door.  Shortly  after 
wards  it  was  opened  by  the  doctor,  who,  evidently,  was 
going  right  out,  for  he  carried  his  hat  in  his  hand.  Mrs. 
Archer  raised  her  head  from  the  instrument  she  was 
cleaning  and  smilingly  looking  in  his  direction  awaited 
instructions. 

"Mrs.  Archer,"  said  he  smiling,  "I  have,  I  know,  a 
pleasant  surprise  for  you." 

"You  have,"  replied  she  laughing,  "I  am  glad  to 
hear  it." 

"Yes,  I  have  instructed  John,  after  he  leaves  me  at 
Doctor  Gordon's,  to  call  for  you  here  and  take  you  and 
Ronald  for  a  ride  through  the  park,  or,  if  not  there, 
anywhere  else  you  may  wish  to  go.  This  will,  I  trust, 
recompense  the  little  fellow  for  the  disappointment  of  a 
few  weeks  ago." 

"That  certainly  is  a  pleasant  surprise,"  said  Mrs. 
Archer,  delighted  at  the  prospect.  "But,"  apprehen- 


112  The  Success  of  Failure 

sively,  "are  you  sure  you  will  not  need  me  this  after 
noon  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  to  see  Mrs.  Leigh  at  Doctor  Gordon's 
office.  If  you  are  back  at  five,  that  will  be  time  enough. 
I  expect  a  patient  between  five  and  six  o'clock." 

"You  are  very  kind,  doctor,  and  I  know  Ronald  will 
enjoy  the  ride." 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  he  will.  Poor  little  chap,  his  amuse 
ments  are  not  very  many." 

"Indeed,  they  are  not,"  agreed  she,  sighing. 

"Well,  be  back  at  five,  if  you  can,"  said  the  doctor, 
turning  about  and  going  out. 

The  door  had  hardly  closed  upon  him,  before  Mrs. 
Archer  stood  in  front  of  the  telephone  and  was  calling 
up  the  number  of  the  apartment  house  in  which  hers 
was  located  and  in  response  to  the  almost  immediate 
"Hallo,"  was  requesting  to  be  connected  with  apart 
ment  twenty-six. 

There  was  a  faint  click,  and  then  Martha's  voice 
asked:  "Who  is  it?" 

"It  is  I,  Martha.  Lift  Ronald  upon  a  chair,  I  want 
to  talk  to  him." 

Very  soon  her  little  son's  voice  in  a  shrill,  "Hallo," 
came  over  the  wire. 

"This  is  mother,  darling,  and  she  has  a  big  surprise 
in  store  for  her  little  man.  Tell  Martha  to  get  you 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognises  an  Old  Friend        113 

ready  at  once  and  bring  you  over  to  the  doctor's 
office." 

"Oh — mamma  !"  delightedly  exclaimed  the  child,  "is 
it  truly  big?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  truly  big.  You  just  wait  and  see  if  it 
isn't.  Now  let  mother  speak  to  Martha." 

"Dat's  all  right,  ma'am,"  interpolated  Martha,  "I 
heerd  what  you  said." 

"You  did !"  laughed  Mrs.  Archer.  "Then  your  head 
must  have  been  right  by  Ronald's." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Then  let  me  say  goodby  to  him." 

"I'm  here,  mamma,"  said  Ronald. 

"Mother  must  say  goodby,  now,  darling,  for  she  has 
lots  to  do  before  you  come  over." 

"Goodby,  mamma,  don't  lose  the  s'prise." 

"I  won't,"  assured  his  mother.  "Hurry  up,  now, 
and  don't  keep  it  waiting." 

"All  wight.    Goodby,  mamma." 

"Goodby,  little  son,"  she  answered  back  and,  hang 
ing  up  the  receiver,  went  back  to  her  work. 

At  half-past  two  her  work  was  all  done  and  she  was 
sitting  down  waiting  for  Martha  and  Ronald  to  arrive. 
The  doctor's  automobile,  with  John  sitting  in  front, 
stood  at  the  curb.  She  smiled  as  she  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  saw  the  motionless  figure,  and  wondered 
as  she  rose  to  get  her  hat  and  coat  if  he  would  come 


H4  The  Success  of  Failure 

in  and  tell  her  he  was  ready  to  take  them  for  a  ride. 
He  did  not.  This,  evidently,  had  not  been  a  part  of 
his  instructions,  and  he  would  not  depart  one  iota 
from  them.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until  five  minutes  later 
when  she  said,  standing  on  the  sidewalk  with  her  boy's 
hand  in  hers,  "Here  we  are,  John,"  that  he  removed  his 
eyes  from  the  enchanting  distance.  Then  he  got  down 
and  opened  the  door,  saying : 

"The  doctor's  orders  are,  ma'am,  to  take  you  and 
your  little  boy  through  the  park,  or,  if  you  do  not  care 
to  go  there,  anywhere  else  you  may  wish  to  go." 

"The  park  will  do,  John,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer  as 
she  lifted  Ronald  into  the  automobile  and,  quickly  fol 
lowing,  seated  him  on  a  seat  beside  her. 

Without  another  wrord  John  closed  the  door,  mounted 
his  seat  and  started  the  car  in  the  direction  of  the  park. 

"Oh — mother,  this  is  a  'truly  big  s'prise !'  "  exclaimed 
Ronald  excitedly,  sitting  straight  up  in  his  seat,  his 
sightless,  blue  eyes  wide  open  and  his  baby-hands 
clasped  tightly  together  in  his  lap. 

"I  am  glad  my  boy  thinks  so." 

"Oh,  yes,  this  is  'bootiful' !"  tilting  his  chin  slightly. 

Mrs.  Archer  smiled  at  the  word  "bootiful."  To  her 
it  meant  a  great  deal,  for  it  was  only  the  pleasant  inter 
ruptions  in  his  quiet,  baby  life  that  he  called  "bootiful." 
The  unpleasant  ones  seemed,  in  his  child-mind,  to  take 
on  an  ugly  shape,  and  they  were  not  "bootiful." 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend        115 

As  the  car  turned  into  the  park  entrance,  Ronald 
said: 

"Tell  me  when  we  come  to  the  park,  mother." 

"We  are  right  there,  now,  darling." 

"Are  there  any  'quiwels,  mother?" 

"I  don't  see  any  yet,  dear,  but  mother  will  keep  her 
eyes  open." 

"My  eyes  are  open,  mother,"  said  Ronald,  puzzled, 
putting  a  little  hand  up  to  his  eyes.  "Why  can't  I  see 
the  'quiwels?  Do  only  big  ladies  and  big  mens  see 
when  their  eyes  are  open  ?" 

"Not  always,  little  son,"  suppressing  a  sigh,  "mother 
is  sorry  to  say." 

"But  you  do,  don't  you,  mother?'' 

"Mother  tries  to,  dear." 

"If  I  keep  my  eyes  open,  mother,  will  I  see  when  I 
grow  to  be  a  big  man  ?" 

"Mother  hopes  so,  son." 

Ronald  was  silent  for  several  minutes,  then  he  asked : 

"Don't  you  see  any  'quiwels  yet,  mother  ?" 

"Mother  is  looking  for  them,  dear.  Yes,  she  sees 
one  now.  He  is  sitting  up  on  his  little  hind  legs  and 
is  holding  a  nut  in  his  paws.  Poor,  little  chap,  he  has 
to  nibble  off  the  shell  to  get  the  nut  which  is  inside. 
And  there  is  another  one  running  down  the  trunk  of 
the  tree  over  there.  And  there  is  one  scampering  after 
another  one  on  the  grass,  his  long,  bushy  tail  trailing 


n6  The  Success  of  Failure 

behind  him.  There  are  lots  and  lots  of  squirrels,  and 
such  cunning,  little  fellows  they  are,  too." 

"Do  the  'quiwels  always  live  in  the  park,  mother  ?" 

"Yes,  darling." 

"Can  the  'quiwels  see  other  'quiwels,  mother  ?" 

"Sometimes,  son." 

"Then  I'd  like  to  be  a  'quiwel." 

"What!  and  live  in  the  park  away  from  mother?" 

"You  could  be  a  'quiwel,  too,  couldn't  you,  mother  ?" 

"But  mother  does  not  think  she  would  care  to  be  a 
squirrel,  and  is  not  sure  she  would  like  her  boy  to  be  a 
squirrel,  either.  She  loves  him  just  as  he  is." 

"But  then  I  could  see  you,  mother.  Wouldn't  you 
like  that?" 

This  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Archer,  and  she  bent 
over  and  tenderly  lifted  the  child  upon  her  lap,  saying, 
as  she  wrapped  her  arms  tightly  around  him,  "Indeed, 
mother  would,  honey-boy.  But  we  won't  talk  any  more 
about  the  squirrels.  Just  lie  quietly  here,  in  mother's 
arms,  and  she  will  tell  you  a  story.  What  shall  I  tell 
you?" 

"About  the  crying  of  the  trees  and  the  flowers, 
mother,"  said  Ronald,  settling  down  in  his  mother's 
arms.  "I  like  that  story." 

"You  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Archer,  placing  the  child's 
head  more  comfortably  upon  her  arm,  "the  one  which 
tells  of  how  the  wind  and  the  rain  came  and  made  the 


Mrs.  Archer  Recognizes  an  Old  Friend        117 

trees  and  flowers  cry,  and  how  afterwards  the  sun 
came  out  and  kissed  them  with  his  warm,  soft  rays  and 
dried  their  tears  and  told  them  to  stop  their  crying 
and  lift  up  their  heads  and  sing  a  song  which  would 
make  all  the  people  glad  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ronald,  his  mouth  opening  into  a  yawn. 

"That's — a — nice — story You  like  it,  too,  don't 

you,  mother?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is  a  very  nice  story,  but  if  mother 
does  not  begin  right  away,  I  am  afraid  her  boy  will  be 
asleep  before  it  is  half-told." 

"I'm  not  sleepy,  mother,"  assured  Ronald,  "I'm  just 
tired.  You  begin  the  story." 

True  to  her  prediction,  however,  she  had  not  pro 
ceeded  far  with  the  story  before  Ronald,  lulled  by  the 
air  and  the  rapid  motion  of  the  automobile,  was  soon 
fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCESHIP  RENEWED 

"npHERE  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you,  Thompson," 

1  said  Doctor  Ross,  after  a  careful  examination 
of  that  gentleman's  person.  "My  automobile,  colliding 
with  your  physical  structure,  shook  you  up  a  bit,  that's 
all." 

"Thank  you,  doctor,"  replied  someone  with  whom  we 
are  already  acquainted,  Franklin  Thompson,  for  it  was 
he  whom  the  doctor's  automobile  had  bowled  over  that 
morning. 

"Can't  you  remember  the  name  by  which  you  used 
to  call  me  when  you  were  a  boy,  Frank?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot,"  replied  Frank  regretfully. 

"You  will  in  time." 

"I  have  not  the  least  objection,"  replied  Frank,  re 
suming  his  coat  and  sitting  down  in  one  of  the  doctor's 
comfortable  chairs,  "and  regret,  unlike  you,  my  inabil 
ity  to  recall  any  incident  that  would  establish  in  my 
mind  our  previous  acquaintanceship.  Nevertheless,  it 
shall  not  prevent  me  from  endeavoring  to  merit  the 
friendship  which  you  now  extend  to  me  so  generously." 

118 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed  119 

"But  only  on  one  condition,"  said  the  doctor,  "you 
must  grant  me  yours  in  return." 

"You  are  very  welcome  to  it,"  said  Frank,  looking 
into  the  grave,  black  eyes  of  the  doctor,  "but,"  smiling 
and  doubtfully  shaking  his  head,  "you  will  find  it,  I  am 
afraid,  of  little  benefit  to  you." 

"That  is  something  for  me  to  decide,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  extending  his  hand  to  his  now  admitted  friend. 

"And  for  me,  also,"  said  Frank,  rising  and  taking 
the  doctor's  outstretched  hand. 

"In  a  way,  yes,"  agreed  the  doctor  as  they  shook 
hands. 

Frank  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  doctor,  standing  in 
front  of  him,  looked  searchingly  into  his  face.  "The 
world,"  said  he,  "must  have  treated  you  pretty  badly 
to  have  made  you  forget  your  friends." 

"It  was  not  any  too  kind,  I  can  assure  you."  said 
Frank,  turning  his  head  to  escape  the  penetrating  gaze 
of  the  doctor's  eyes,  for  he  was  beginning  to  feel  de 
cidedly  uncomfortable.  They  asked  so  many  questions 
he  could  not  answer  that  he  felt  considerably  relieved 
when  the  clock  upon  the  mantel,  striking  the  hour  of 
six,  attracted  their  owner's  attention  and,  with  a  hur 
ried  "Excuse  me,"  he  stepped  quickly  to  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Archer's  office,  and  said : 

"You  may  go  now,  if  you  wish.  Mrs.  Archer." 

With  a  "Thank  vou,  doctor,"  Mrs.  Archer  closed  the 


I2O  The  Success  of  Failure 

typewriter  down  and  rose  from  her  desk.  The  doctor 
then  returned  and,  stretching  himself  out  upon  the 
couch,  gazed  with  half-closed  eyes  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"So  the  world  has  not  treated  you  very  well,  eh, 
Frank?"  said  he  musingly.  "How  is  that?" 

"You  tell  me,  and  I'll  tell  you.    I  don't  know." 

The  doctor  still  continued  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the 
ceiling  as  he  asked : 

"By  whom  were  you  employed?" 

"My  employers  were  varied  and  many,"  satirically 
replied  Frank. 

"By  that,  I  should  infer,  you  are  not  a  skilled  work 
man." 

"If  to  do  one's  work  well  constitutes  a  skilled  work 
man,  then  I  have  every  right  to  claim  to  be  one," 
proudly  asserted  Frank. 

"That  is  true/'  agreed  the  doctor.  "Are  you  health 
ily  and  helpfully  employed  now?" 

"I  regret  to  state,"  replied  Frank,  wondering  a  little 
at  the  doctor's  way  of  expressing  himself,  "I  am  not 
employed  at  all." 

The  doctor  took  his  eyes  from  the  ceiling  and  gravely 
smiling  he  turned  his  head  and  regarded  Frank  quizzi 
cally.  "It  has  never  occurred  to  you,  I  suppose,"  said 
he,  "that  what  you  have  just  said  is  an  impossibility." 

"Lack  of  employment  an  impossibility?"  exclaimed 
Frank  in  surprise.  "I  should  like  to  believe  it  was  so." 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed          121 

"It  is  so,  just  the  same,"  said  the  doctor,  speaking 
with  slow  emphasis.  "What  we  call  idleness  does  not 
exist ;  it  is  energy  directed  diseaseward.  All  energy  is 
healthy  or  diseased,  helpful  or  destructive.  Waste  of 
energy  is  when  its  products  are  not  good  but  evil.  'By 
their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them/  By  the  products  shall 
the  healthiness  and  helpfulness  of  a  man's  employment 
be  determined; — they  will  be  healthy  or  they  will  be 
diseased,  they  will  be  helpful  or  they  will  be  de 
structive." 

Mrs.  Archer's  entrance  into  the  room  prohibited 
Frank's  immediate  reply.  She  was  dressed  for  the 
street  and,  as  both  of  the  men  sprang  to  their  feet,  she 
said: 

"I  am  going,  doctor,  but  don't  let  me  disturb  you." 

"Before  you  go,  however,  Mrs.  Archer,"  said  the 
doctor,  "permit  me  to  introduce  to  you  my  friend,  Mr. 
Thompson.  He  is  the  young  man  whom  my  car 
knocked  over  this  morning." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Archer  with  a  smile  as  she 
held  out  her  hand  to  Frank.  "How-do-you-do,  Mr. 
Thompson  ?  You  feel  no  bad  effects,  I  trust,  from  the 
accident  ?" 

"Fortunately,  no/'  said  he,  as  he  released  her  hand. 

"It  was,  I  should  say,  rather  a  fortunate  accident," 
said  she  with  a  low  laugh,  "if  it  numbers  you  among 
the  doctor's  friends." 


122  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  am  beginning  to  think  so,"  said  he.  "I  presume 
you  are  listed  among  them  ?" 

"I  should  like  to  believe  so,"  she  said  a  trifle  doubt 
fully.  "However,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  boast  of 
that  distinction." 

"We  will  not  keep  you  any  longer,  Mrs.  Archer," 
interposed  the  doctor,  opening  the  door  into  the  hall. 
"I  know  that  little  son  of  yours  is  anxiously  waiting  for 
his  mother." 

"Yes,  he  is  counting  the  minutes,  poor,  little  man," 
said  she,  and  with  a  smile  and  a  nod  to  each  she  hur 
ried  out.  The  street  door  closed  upon  her,  and  the 
doctor  returned  and,  taking  his  former  position  upon 
the  couch,  said : 

"Mrs.  Archer  is  my  nurse." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Frank  indifferently,  sitting  down 
in  his  chair. 

"And  an  excellent  one  she  is,  too." 

"Yes,"  replied  Frank  with  the  same  indifference. 

"Now,  to  come  back  to  you  and  to  your  need  of  em 
ployment,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  on  his  side  and 
regarding  Frank  smilingly.  "Have  you  ever  thought 
what  a  vital  thing  this  seeking  of  employment  is  in  the 
life  of  a  man?  It  is  a  great  thing " 

"Indeed,  it  is  a  great  thing,"  excitedly  interrupted 
Frank.  "I  assure  you  I  agree  with  you  there.  It  is 
the  greatest  thing  I  have  so  far  encountered.  It  is 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed          123 

marvelously  great  in  its  ability  to  rack  and  rend  a 
man's  soul  as  no  other  human  device  could  ever  rack 
and  rend  his  body.  So  all-absorbing  is  this  great 
thing's  power,  man  is  fast  losing  his  identity  with  the 
personal  pronoun  I,  and  is  rapidly  becoming  a  miser 
able  walking  'it'." 

"It  is  not  as  bad  as  all  that,  surely,"  said  the  doctor. 

"You've  never  had  to  look  for  work,  perhaps." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have.    In  fact,  I  am  always  seeking  it." 

"New  patients,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  new  patients/' 

Frank  looked  over  at  the  doctor  and  burst  out  laugh 
ing. 

"You  may  laugh,"  said  the  doctor,  "but,  I  can  assure 
you,  there  is  nothing  funny  in  the  situation." 

"I  can  quite  believe  it,"  agreed  Frank,  still  laugh 
ing.  "How  do  you  go  about  it?" 

"It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  now.  Anyway, 
the  knowledge  of  the  method  is  only  gained  by  those 
engaged  in  seeking  the  work." 

"And  is,  therefore,  I  suppose,  confined  to  gentleman 
in  your  profession." 

"My  profession  is  not  confined  to  any  special  class 
of  individuals.  It  is  one  for  all  classes  and  by  right 
belongs  to  the  whole  world." 

"Myself,  for  instance,"  said  Frank  grimly. 

"Yes,  you.    How  would  you  like  to  enter  it?" 


124  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  am  too  old  to  think  of  entering  any  profession, 
now,"  replied  Frank,  shaking  his  head. 

"You  might  begin  by  seeking  new  patients  for  me," 
suggested  the  doctor. 

'That's  so,"  admitted  Frank.  "But  how  in  the  name 
of  common  sense  should  I  begin  ?" 

"If  you  agree  to  enter  my  employ,  you  will  simply 
follow  my  instructions." 

Frank  looked  over  questioningly  at  the  doctor  and 
wondered  what  the  instructions  might  be  and  whether 
he  would  be  able  to  follow  them. 

"Think  it  over,"  said  the  doctor  rising,  "while  I 
telephone  down  to  Mrs.  Barstow  you  are  going  to  take 
dinner  with  me." 

Frank  was  still  thinking  it  over  when  the  doctor, 
who  had  finished  telephoning,  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  said: 

"Well,  my  friend,  do  you  agree?" 

"Beggars  cannot  be  choosers/'  said  Frank  resigned 
ly.  ."I  shall  have  to." 

"That  is  settled,  then,"  said  the  doctor.  "The  terms 
of  the  agreement  can  wait  until  we  have  had  our  din 
ner,"  and  they  proceeded  do^n  stairs. 

In  less  than  half-an-hour  they  were  through  dinner 
and  were  mounting  the  stairs  which  led  to  the  upper 
hall.  When  they  entered  the  office,  Doctor  Ross,  be 
fore  sitting  down,  walked  over  to  his  desk  and  pulling 


An  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed          125 

open  a  drawer  at  its  side  drew  from  it  a  sheet  of  paper, 
which  he  handed  to  Frank,  who  had  sat  down  in  a 
chair  nearby. 

"Herein,"  said  the  doctor,  touching  the  paper  with 
his  finger,  "are  the  conditions  under  which  all  must 
work  who  would  enter  my  employ.  Read  the  first  five 
over  carefully,  and  if  you  are  sure  you  can,  without  a 
doubt,  fulfill  them,  sign  your  name  at  the  bottom  of 
the  page,"  and  the  doctor  indicated  by  a  wave  of  his 
hand  the  pen  and  ink  upon  the  desk. 

"It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  read  them,"  said 
Frank,  "for  it  is,  as  I  told  you,  not  a  matter  of  choice 
but  of  necessity.  I  must."  And  he  stretched  forth 
his  hand  for  the  pen. 

"Oh,  no,  Frank,"  said  the  doctor,  placing  the  pen 
beyond  his  reach,  "that  will  never  do.  If  you  are  not 
interested  in  the  conditions,  I  am  for  you ;  for  no  man 
can  do  good  work  unless  he  fully  understands  the  con 
ditions  under  which  he  works." 

"Conditions,  or  no  conditions,"  said  Frank,  as  he 
gave  the  paper  back  to  the  doctor,  "Fm  not  likely  to 
quarrel  with  my  bread  and  butter." 

"We'll  see,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  began  to  read 
the  following : 

First — No  discrimination  must  be  made  in  the  seeking 
of  patients. 

Second — No  distinction  must  be  made  between  patients. 


126  The  Success  of  Failure 

Third — A  recognition  of  the  oneness  of  humanity  must 
be  observed. 

Fourth — To  be  willing  to  execute  all  instructions. 

Fifth — To  be  satisfied  to  live  one  day  at  a  time  and  to 
be  contented  with  a  sufficiency  for  that  day. 

"Is  there  anything  more?"  asked  Frank  when  the 
doctor  stopped  reading. 

"Not  for  the  present.  I  think  you  will  find  what  I 
have  read  enough  to  begin  on." 

"I  should  say  so.    When  am  I  to  begin?" 

"Tomorrow,  if  you  wish,"  replied  the  doctor,  hand 
ing  the  agreement  back  to  Frank  to  sign.  "Be  here 
not  later  than  nine  o'clock  tomorrow  morning  and  I 
will  give  you  your  instructions  for  the  day." 

"All  right,"  replied  Frank,  getting  up  from  his  seat 
to  reach  for  the  pen.  "I'll  be  here.  Here  is  the  signed 
agreement,"  and  he  laid  it  upon  the  doctor's  desk. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  doctor;  and  just  at  that  mo 
ment  the  office  door  opened  and  Doctor  Gordon  stepped 
into  the  room. 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  a  minute,  Douglas,"  said  Doctor 
Ross,  rising  and  closing  down  his  desk.  Then  turning 
to  Frank,  he  said : 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me  for  I  have  an 
appointment  at  eight." 

Frank,  who  had  already  risen  and  taken  up  his  hat, 
nodded  comprehendingly  and  turned  to  leave. 

"Before  you  go,  however,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "I 


Aii  Old  Acquaintanceship  Renewed          127 

should  be  glad  if  you  would  write  your  address  on  the 
back  of  this,"  and  from  a  nearby  table  he  picked  up 
one  of  his  cards,  which  he  handed  to  Frank,  who,  after 
complying  with  the  request,  laid  it  face  upward  upon 
the  table.  He  then  made  his  way  toward  the  door, 
and,  as  he  did  so,  the  doctor  stooped  and  picked  the 
card  up.  The  address  he  found  written  caused  him  to 
exclaim,  "So  you,  Frank,  are  an  inmate  of  Miss 
Dorothy  Richardson's  'home-living  place'." 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  turning  his  hand  on  the  door 
knob,  "I  have  only  been  there  a  few  days,  though." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  so  nicely  placed. 
I  know  Miss  Richardson  very  well,  indeed.  Douglas," 
turning  to  Doctor  Gordon,  who  was  regarding  Frank 
with  unusual  interest,  "let  me  present  to  you  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  Franklin  Thompson.  You  will,  no 
doubt,  be  interested  in  him,  for  he  is  a  new  inmate  of 
Dorothy's  'home-living  place'." 

"Then  he  is,  indeed,  fortunate,"  said  Doctor  Gordon, 
his  face  wearing  its  usual  friendly  smile  as  he  stepped 
over  to  where  Frank  stood  and  shook  him  warmly  by 
the  hand. 

"Doctor  Gordon,"  explained  Doctor  Ross  to  Frank, 
"is  my  brother-in-law." 

"You'll  have  to  hurry,  Bob,"  interposed  Doctor  Gor 
don  in  his  cheery  voice,  "if  we  are  going  to  make  that 
train." 


128  The  Success  of  Failure 

"That's  so.  Well,  good-night,  Frank,"  said  Doctor 
Ross,  taking  his  hat  and  heavy  automobile  coat  from 
the  rack. 

"Good-night,"  replied  Frank,  opening  and  closing 
the  door  quietly  behind  him. 

"A  new  patient?"  queried  Doctor  Gordon  as  the 
front  door  opened  and  shut. 

"No,  on  the  contrary,  quite  an  old  one,"  replied  Doc 
tor  Ross,  buttoning  up  his  coat. 

"You  never  mentioned  him  to  me  ?"  said  Doctor  Gor 
don  questioningly. 

"No,  because  your  remedies  would  not  avail  in  his 
case." 

"I  see,"  said  Doctor  Gordon.    "Are  you  ready?" 

"Yes,"  said  Doctor  Ross,  pulling  on  his  gloves,  and 
he  led  the  way  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IX 

FRANK  KEEPS  HIS  APPOINTMENT  WITH  THE  DOCTOR 

«  s^*  OOD-MORNING,  Mr.  Thompson,"  said  Mrs.  Archer, 
•  vJ.  perceiving  that  gentleman,  as  she  entered,  com 
fortably  seated  in  one  of  the  big,  leather  chairs  in  the 
doctor's  office. 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Archer,"  replied  Frank,  rising 
from  his  chair.  "I  am  waiting  to  see  the  doctor." 

"Have  you  been  waiting  long?" 

"No,  only  about  five  minutes." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  she  with  a  smile  as  she  glanced  at 
the  clock,  "but  you'll  have  to  wait  ten  minutes  more. 
The  doctor  never  gets  in  before  nine." 

"I  do  not  object." 

"Time  is  not  money  to  you,  then,"  laughed  she,  and 
she  walked  into  her  office  and  took  off  her  hat  and 
long  coat,  which  she  hung  up  on  a  hook  behind  the 
door. 

"No,"  replied  he,  resuming  his  seat,  "if  it  were,  I 
should  be  pretty  well-off  by  this  time." 

"Or,  who  can  say,  worse-off,  perhaps,"  interposed 
the  doctor  from  the  doorway. 

129 


130  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Good-morning,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Archer.  "Are 
you  not  a  few  minutes  early  this  morning  ?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  is  nine,"  and  added,  turning  his 
head  in  the  direction  of  Frank,  "You  are  on  time,  I 


see. 
it 


Yes,  I  thought  it  better  to  be  a  few  minutes  too 
early  than  a  few  minutes  too  late." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  replied  the  doctor,  opening  up 
his  desk.  "And  we'll  get  right  down  to  business  as 
soon  as  I  have  given  Mrs.  Archer  a  few  instructions 
about  the  mail." 

Mrs.  Archer,  in  the  meantime,  had  adjusted  her  cap 
neatly  upon  her  head,  dusted  off  her  desk  and  laid  her 
note-book  and  pencils  thereupon.  She  was  now  ready 
for  work. 

The  reading  of  the  morning's  mail  and  the  dictating 
of  replies  thereto  took  but  a  short  time,  and  Doctor 
Ross  was  soon  back  again  seated  in  front  of  his  desk. 
Frank,  at  his  request,  drew  his  chair  up  close  to  its 
side. 

As  Frank  listened  to  the  strangely  magnetic,  low 
voice  of  the  doctor,  with  its  soothing,  gentle  tones, 
stating  the  duties  of  his  new  employment,  the  mental 
atmosphere,  in  which  he  had  hitherto  lived  and  worked, 
vanished,  and  his  indifference  changed  to  vital  interest 
as  the  doctor  described  the  work  and  the  conditions 
surrounding  it.  The  employment  offered,  promised  a 


Frank's  Appointment  with  the  Doctor          131 

journey  into  a  delightful  country,  governed  and  con 
trolled  by  a  force  strange  and  unknown  to  him.  The 
instructions  given  to  him  were  like  a  new  and  untried 
gospel,  and  the  man  whose  instructions  he  had  agreed 
to  carry  out,  seemed  to  belong  to  a  new  and  different 
humanity.  Strange  though  it  all  was  and  decidedly 
unlike  anything  he  had  ever  undertaken  before,  the 
work  attracted  him  greatly ;  and  it  was  only  the  fear  of 
results  that  caused  him  to  remain  silent  for  a  minute 
or  so  after  the  doctor  had  finished  speaking.  Then  he 
exclaimed : 

"What  you  propose,  is  wonderful !  But  do  you  think 
I  can  do  it  ?" 

"Certainly.  What's  to  prevent  you?"  replied  the  doc 
tor,  smiling. 

"Well,  you  know,"  replied  Frank  doubtfully,  "the 
work  is  altogether  new,  and  I  am  fearful  of  results." 

"Although  all  work  is  productive  of  result,  you  are 
not  asked  to  make  that  a  consideration,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  rising  and  laying  his  hand  in  a  friendly  way  upon 
Frank's  shoulder. 

"But  supposing  I  am  not  able  to  secure  patients?" 
anxiously  inquired  Frank. 

"That  is  not  something  for  you  to  consider,"  replied 
the  doctor,  smiling  gravely.  "Your  work  is  to  seek 
patients  and  not  to  secure  them.  You  will  have,  I 
promise  you,  plenty  to  do." 


132  The  Success  of  Failure 

"No  doubt  of  that,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  sad  shake 
of  his  head,  "for  the  world  is  full  of  sick  people." 

"That  is  so,"  agreed  the  doctor ;  "but  the  lamentable 
fact  is  so  many  of  them  do  not  know  it.  The  truth  of 
this  you  will  learn  as  you  progress  in  your  work." 

"But  where  am  I  to  seek  these  sick  patients?"  in 
quired  Frank,  rising  from  his  chair.  "Have  you  as 
signed  to  me  any  particular  location  ?" 

"No.  As  you  said  a  few  moments  ago,  the  world  is 
full  of  them." 

"I  am  privileged,  then,"  said  Frank,  with  a  light 
laugh,  "to  seek  anywhere  and  everywhere." 

"You  are,"  said  the  doctor  smiling.  "But  it  is  only 
fair,  however,  to  warn  you  that  before  you  can  proceed 
in  this  work  with  any  hope  of  success  you  must  begin 
with  yourself  first." 

"Begin  with  myself,  first!"  exclaimed  Frank,  scan 
ning  the  doctor's  face  with  anxious-questioning  eyes. 
"What  do  you  mean  ?  Didn't  you  tell  me,  only  last 
night,  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  me?" 

"That  is  so,"  calmly  replied  the  doctor ;  "but  then  I 
was  speaking  of  that  which  makes  you  recognizable  to 
the  rest  of  humanity, — that  is,  the  physical." 

"Of  what  are  you  speaking,  now?"  asked  Frank, 
slightly  impatient. 

"Of  what  is  really  you,"  answered  the  doctor,  his 
black  eyes  glowing  in  their  somber  light  and  his  mouth 


Frank's  Appointment  with  the  Doctor        133 

extending  into  a  tender  smile.  "The  you,"  his  voice 
dwelling  with  gentle  emphasis  on  each  word,  "without 
which  the  recognizable  could  not  be.  The  you,  my 
friend,''  laying  his  hands  with  an  indescribable  affection 
upon  Frank's  shoulders,  "which  is  capable  of  knowing 
all  things,  being  all  things,  and, — is  all  things." 

The  doctor  stopped  and,  resuming  his  seat,  looked  up 
smilingly  into  the  face  of  Frank,  whose  only  response 
was  a  mystified  shake  of  the  head. 

"The  vou  of  yourself,  Frank,"  continued  the  doctor, 
"about  which  you  know  the  least.  You  have  been  liv 
ing  in  the  shadow,  man,  step  out  into  the  light." 

"I  would  gladly  do  so,"  said  Frank  hopelessly,  "if  I 
could  locate  the  light." 

"It  is  to  be  found  and  it  waits  to  be  sought,"  replied 
the  doctor  quietly.  "Seek  it." 

"Where?''  demanded  Frank. 

"Within  thyself." 

"I  assure  you,"  replied  Frank  grimly,  "there  is 
naught  but  darkness  within  me." 

"That  is  because  you  will  it  to  be  so.  It  is  your  ac 
ceptation  of  the  meaning  of  life  that  renders  the  light 
within  you  darkness.  And,"  sadly,  "  'Great  is  that 
darkness.' ' 

"Yes,  indeed,"  repeated  Frank,  wearily  sinking  into 
his  chair,  "great  is  that  darkness." 

"And  for  that  reason,  my  friend,"  said  the  doctor, 


134  The  Success  of  Failure 

"you  are  on  the  sick  list.    Sickness  is  the  child  of  dark 
ness  and  health  is  the  child  of  light.    Therefore,  seek 
the  light.     But  enough  for  today.     I  see  it  is  time," 
glancing  at  the  clock,  "for  me  to  begin  my  morning 
calls." 

They  rose  simultaneously,  the  doctor  saying  as  he 
took  his  hat  and  coat  from  the  rack,  "I  shall  expect 
you  to  report  the  progress  you  make." 

"I  will,"  replied  Frank  from  the  doorway.  "Good- 
morning,"  and  he  closed  the  door  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  X 
MRS.  GORDON'S  DISCOVERY 

SOME  time  had  passed  since  Frank  became  an  inmate 
of  Dorothy's  'home-living  place.'  She  had  seen 
little  of  him;  he  came  and  went  quietly  and,  with  the 
exception  of  the  occasional  'good-morning'  or  'good- 
evening'  they  exchanged,  no  conversation  had  passed 
between  them.  His  reticence  and  evident  wish  not  to 
intrude,  rather  pleased  her,  yet  there  were  moments 
when  she  wished  it  were  possible  for  her  to  learn  some 
thing  of  his  life, — if  he  were  happy,  how  he  spent  his 
time  and  if  the  conditions  in  which  he  lived  were,  to 
him,  altogether  satisfactory.  She  doubted  the  wisdom, 
however,  of  a  greater  intimacy,  recalling  the  old  and 
well-worn  saying  that  'familiarity  breeds  contempt/ 
True,  she  acknowledged,  it  might  not  prove  so  in  this 
particular  case.  Yet  she  was  not  sure  and,  therefore, 
was  reluctant  to  say  or  do  that  which  might  bring  about 
an  unwished-for  result. 

That  the  saying,  like  many  others,  might  not  be  true 
and  unworthy  of  acceptance,  did  not  occur  to  Dorothy 
as  she  sat  in  her  rocking-chair  by  the  window,  wonder- 

i35 


136  The  Success  of  Failure 

ing  as  she  watched  his  tall  form  as  it  went  up  the  street 
and  disappeared  around  the  corner,  if  the  'home-living- 
place,'  perhaps,  was  not  a  trifle  lonely  for  one  of  his 
mature  years.  The  loud  ringing  of  the  door-bell  broke 
in  upon  her  thoughts,  and  she  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Gordon  asking  Bertha,  who  had  hurried  to  the  door, 
"if  Miss  Richardson  was  in?" 

"She  is,  ma'am,"  replied  Bertha,  standing  at  one  side 
to  permit  her  to  enter.  "You'll  find  her  in  the  front 
room." 

"All  right,  I'll  find  her,"  and  Mrs.  Gordon  hurried 
through  the  hall. 

"I'm  in  here,  Margaret,"  called  out  Dorothy,  rising 
from  her  chair  and  coming  to  the  door. 

"So  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  leaving  a  light  kiss 
upon  Dorothy's  cheek. 

"Come  and  sit  down  over  here,"  said  Dorothy,  turn 
ing  and  leading  the  way  to  a  large,  roomy  chair  not  far 
from  the  rocking-chair  she  had  been  occupying.  "But 
first  take  off  your  hat  and  coat.  Why  out  again  so 
early  in  the  day  ?  Anything  new  ?" 

"Not  to  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  taking  the  pins 
out  of1  her  hat  and  laying  it  on  the  table,  "but,  perhaps," 
handing  her  coat  to  Dorothy,  who  crossed  the  room 
and  laid  it  upon  the  couch,  "it  may  be  so  to  you.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  there  was  a  questionable  reason  for  Mrs. 
Archer's  reticence?" 


Mrs.  Gordon's  Discovery  137 

"You  did,"  admitted  Dorothy,  returning  and  seating 
herself  in  a  chair  opposite  Mrs.  Gordon's.  "And  you 
have  come  over  to  tell  me,  I  suppose,  you  have  dis 
covered  the  reason  ?  How  did  you  do  it  ?" 

"Quite  accidentally,  or,  perhaps,  I  should  say  provi 
dentially,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  establishing  herself 
comfortably  in  her  chair.  "An  old  college  chum  of 

mine,  Mrs.  Leigh  of  Dawson, You  have  heard  me 

speak  of  her,  I  think  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  remember,  and,  at  present,  she  is  a 
patient  of  Bob's,  is  she  not?" 

"Yes.  Well,  when  she  came  into  the  city  to  see  him 
a  few  days  ago,  she  was  amazed  to  note,  upon  meeting 
Mrs.  Archer,  the  remarkable  resemblance  she  bore  to 
an  old  school-friend  of  hers,  who  mysteriously  disap 
peared  from  home  some  years  ago.  She  remarked 
upon  the  fact  while  taking  luncheon  with  me  the  same 
day  and  was  anxious  to  learn  what  I  knew  about  her. 
I,  of  course,  told  her  I  knew  absolutely  nothing  and 
that  Bob  had  engaged  her  when  I  was  away  last  sum 
mer.  She  then  asked  if  I  thought  Bob  could  give  her 
any  information?  I  told  her  he  probably  could,  if  he 
would,  but  I  doubted  very  much  if  he  would.  This 
seemed  to  depress  her  greatly ;  for,  as  she  said,  it  rather 
increased  than  allayed  her  fears.  There  was  a  differ 
ence,  however,  she  admitted  after  a  while,  for  Hannah, 
she  thought,  would  look  older  than  Mrs.  Archer  ap- 


138  The  Success  of  Failure 

pears  to  be.  I,  then,  in  turn,  voiced  my  suspicions,  and 
questioned  Mrs.  Leigh  closely ;  but  she  pleaded  to  be 
excused  from  answering  any  of  my  questions, — saying, 
that  if  it  were  possible  to  find  in  Mrs.  Archer  the  long- 
lost  Hannah  Thompson,  she  would  not  want  to  be  the 
channel  through  which  this  news  should  reach  her 
parents,  if,  by  any  chance,  there  had  been,  or  was  now, 
a  reason  sufficiently  great  which,  without  a  doubt,  there 
must  be,  to  keep  her  from  communicating  with  them. 
It  was  only  after  a  long  and  extended  search  through 
this  country  and  abroad  that  they,  she  said,  finally  be 
came  reconciled  to  the  belief  that  her  existence  upon 
this  earth  had  ceased.  Why  then,  urged  she,  disturb 
that  belief,  if  the  daughter,  though  she  be  living  in  some 
unthought  of  corner  of  the  globe,  wished  them  to  so 
consider  her,  knowing,  perhaps,  that  a  cause  existed 
which  made  such  a  belief  best  for  all  concerned  ?  And 
it  was  only  after  much  persuasion  and  argument  and 
after  I  had  promised  not  to  communicate  with  Han 
nah's  parents  in  any  way,  that  I  prevailed  upon  her  to 
tell  me  the  name  of  the  town  in  which  they  live." 

"And,  of  course,  you  will  not  ?"  asked  Dorothy  anx 
iously. 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  with  a  disagreeable 
laugh,  "I  have  found  it  will  not  be  necessary.  Mrs. 
Archer  admitted  to  me  this  morning  that  she  was  Han 
nah  Thompson. 


Mrs.  Gordon  s  Discovery  139 

"You  forced  her  confidence?"  exclaimed  Dorothy  in 
credulously. 

"I  had  to.  I  have  a  brother  to  consider,  Dorothy, 
you  forget  that." 

"And  she  has  a  little,  blind  son  to  consider,"  said 
Dorothy  quietly.  "Do  you  forget  that?" 

"That  is  her  affair  and  not  mine." 

"And  she  has  made  it  wholly  hers  for  the  past  five 
years,"  said  Dorothy,  in  the  same  quiet  tone.  "Do  you 
forget  that?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  Dorothy,"  im 
patiently  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gordon.  "I  must  consider 
my  brother." 

"Do  you  think  your  brother  will  appreciate  such 
consideration  ?"  asked  Dorothy,  smiling  gravely. 

"Bob  never  appreciates  anything  that  is  done  for  his 
good,"  tartly  replied  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"Have  you  told  him  ?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Archer  promised  me  she  would  tell  him 
and,  also,  she  would  immediately  leave  his  employ." 

"Will  he  permit  her?" 

"He  will,  if  he  is  not  altogether  a  fool,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon  angrily. 

"I  don't  believe  he  will,"  said  Dorothy  with  a  doubt 
ful  shake  of  her  head.  "Bob  is  always  just." 

"It  is  a  strange  justice,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sneer- 
ingly,  "which  would  lead  him  to  keep  in  his  employ  a 


140  The  Success  of  Failure 

woman  of  uncertain  character,  bringing,  thereby,  not 
only  unmerited  censure  upon  himself,  but  attracting  un 
kind  criticism  to  every  one  connected  with  him.  If  he 
does,"  threateningly,  "I  shall  do  what  I  told  her  this 
morning  I  would  do,  write  to  her  parents." 

"Margaret,"  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  amazement, 
"surely  you  did  not  resort  to  such  a  threat  to  compel 
her  to  admit  she  was  Hannah  Thompson !" 

"I  certainly  did." 

"Then  you  have  broken  your  promise  ?" 

"I  have  done  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Not  in  the  letter,  perhaps,  but  you  have  in  the 
spirit.  When  Mrs.  Leigh  exacted  that  promise  from 
you,  she  had  in  mind  the  protection  of  the  daughter  as 
well  as  that  of  the  parents.  Can't  you  see  in  the  be 
trayal  of  the  one  you  have  betrayed  all?" 

"I  cannot/'.replied  Mrs.  Gordon  decidedly.  "People 
can't  do  wrong  and  then  expect  others  to  coyer  up  their 
wrong-doing." 

"It  isn't  always  necessary,  though,"  retorted  Dor 
othy,  "when  it  is  nicely  covered  up  with  good  works 
for  someone  to  come  along  and  uncover  it." 

"I  deemed  it  wise  to  do  so  in  this  case." 

"I  can't  agree  with  you,"  replied  Dorothy  thought 
fully.  "I  have  always  believed  Mrs.  Archer  to  be  not 
only  a  good  woman,  but  a  very  brave  one." 

"Good!  brave!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gordon  in  disgust. 


Mrs.  Gordon's  Discovery  141 

"Nonsense !  What  goodness  is  there  to  be  found  in  a 
girl  who  would  run  away  from  a  good  home  and  in 
dulgent  parents  with  a  man  to  whom  she  was  not  mar- 
.  ried  and  live  with  him  in  that  state  until  nearly  the 
time  her  child  was  born?  I  fail  to  see  it.  And  what 
bravery  is  there  in  sneaking  into  the  employ  of  a  repu 
table  physician,  hiding  her  identity  with  a  name  not 
rightly  her  own?" 

"Don't  jump  at  conclusions,  Margaret,"  impatiently 
said  Dorothy.  "Appearances,  sometimes,  are  very  de 
ceiving.  You  have  no  proof  that  she  is  other  than  what 
I  said,  'brave  and  good/  And,  after  all,  if  what  you 
say  is  true  of  her,  the  wrong  is  her  own  and  in  herself 
only  is  its  redemption.  It  is  not  something  for  you  to 
worry  about.  Let  her  do  that." 

"I  am  going  to,  never  fear,"  spiritedly  returned  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "It  is  Bob  for  whom  I  am  concerned." 

"Oh,  Bob  is  perfectly  capable  of  taking  care  of  him 
self,  and,  in  all  probability,  will  not  appreciate  your 
interference  in  his  affairs,"  indifferently  replied 
Dorothy. 

"Probably  not.    Nevertheless,  it  was  necessary. 

Dorothy  did  not  immediately  reply,  but  sat  gazing 
thoughtfully  out  of  the  window  for  several  moments. 
Then  she  asked: 

"When  is  Mrs.  Archer  expected  to  convey  this  dis 
agreeable  intelligence  to  Bob  ?" 


142  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Tomorrow  morning.  She  is  to  telephone  me  the 
result  of  the  interview  at  noon." 

"And  you  will,  of  course,  immediately  let  me  know  ?" 

"Surely.  But,  by  the  way,  how  is  the  'home-living 
place'  progressing?" 

"Fairly  well.    I  have  arranged  for  enlargements." 

"You  consider  the  venture  a  success,  then?" 

"Well,  so  far,  I  have  heard  no  complaints." 

"They  will  come  soon  enough,"  thought  Mrs.  Gor 
don.  Aloud,  she  said : 

"And  your  new  inmate  ?" 

"Oh,  he  is  exceptionally  good ;  he  gives  so  little 
trouble." 

"And  you,  of  course,  see  as  little  of  him  as  possible?" 
anxiously  inquired  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"It  is  not  my  fault,  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Dorothy, 
smiling  maliciously  across  at  Mrs.  Gordon,  "if  I  do  not 
see  more ;  it  is  altogether  his,  for  he  meets  all  of  my 
smiles  and  kindly  greetings  with  a  polite  indifference. 
Without  a  doubt,  Mr.  Franklin  Thompson  is  a  discreet 
young  man." 

"He  needs  to  be,"  grimly  observed  Mrs.  Gordon  as 
she  reached  for  her  hat  and  put  it  on,  "when  he  has 
such  a  pretty  and  dainty  little  person  as  you  are  for 
his  landlady." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Dorothy. 

"It  is  nothing  of  the  kind,"  retorted  Mrs.  Gordon, 


Mrs.  Gordon's  Discovery  143 

rising  and  taking  her  coat  from  the  couch.  "And  you 
lacked  discretion  when  you  admitted  him  into  your 
'home-living  place.'  v 

"Perhaps  I  did,  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy,  still  laugh 
ing.  "But  what's  your  hurry?" 

"I  must  get  back  to  the  office  before  Douglas  ar 
rives,"  and  Mrs.  Gordon  turned  and  began  to  walk  to 
ward  the  door. 

Dorothy  rose  and  followed  her,  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  door  leading  into  the  public  hall  and  she 
was  pushing  back  the  latch,  she  said : 

"You  failed  to  observe,  Margaret,  that  the  surname 
of  my  new  inmate  is  the  same  as  that  which  you  be 
lieve  rightly  belongs  to  Mrs.  Archer.  It  would  be 
strange,  would  it  not,  if  they  were  related?" 

"It  would,  indeed/'  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  stooping  to 
kiss  Dorothy,  "but  I  must  not  stop  to  talk  any  more 
about  that.  I  will  telephone  you  some  time  tomorrow," 
she  added,  and  hastened  down  the  stairs. 

Dorothy  sighed  as  she  closed  the  door  and  went  back 
to  her  room.  Mrs.  Archer  and  her  affairs  had  been  a 
source  of  unusual  interest  to  her  for  some  time  past, 
and  she  was  not  a  little  concerned  about  the  probable 
outcome  of  the  interview  between  Bob  and  his  nurse. 
That  Margaret's  interference  was  totally  unwarranted 
and  decidedly  inexcusable,  she  knew ;  but,  at  the  same 
time,  she  knew,  too,  the  uselessness  of  trying  to  con-  ' 


144  The  Success  of  Failure 

vince  her  of  the  fact.  Of  its  possible  consequence  to 
the  woman  and  her  little  child,  she  did  not  care;  her 
brother's  reputation  was  he  sole  consideration.  "But 
was  there  not  something  she  could  do,  something  which 
would  not  offend  Margaret?"  Dorothy  asked  of  her 
self  as  she  sat  down  in  the  rocking-chair  by  the  win 
dow.  "Well,  she  would  wait  until  tomorrow  and  see 
what  that  brought  forth,  for,  until  then,  she  could  not 
do  anything,  anyway.  If  Bob  did  permit  her  to  go, 
which,  she  did  not  think  at  all  likely,  she  would  seek  an 
interview  with  Mrs.  Archer  and  try  to  induce  her  to 
permit  the  'home-living  place'  to  look  after  her  im 
mediate  future." 


CHAPTER  XI 

MRS.  ARCHER  BECOMES  HANNAH  THOMPSON. 

DOCTOR  Ross  sat  in  his  chair  at  his  desk  and  listened 
gravely  to  the  sad  story  which  Mrs.  Archer,  sit 
ting  on  a  chair  close  by,  was  painfully  endeavoring  to 
tell  him.  Not  once  did  he  raise  his  eyes  from  the  floor 
to  look  into  her  face  until  she  had  finished.  Then  he 
turned  them  upon  her,  and  in  their  depths  she  read, 
what  she  least  expected  to  read,  a  wonderful  sympathy. 
There  was  something  else,  too,  for  \vhich  she  could  not 

find  a  name A  something  which  seemed  to  say  so 

comprehendingly,  "I  know.  I  understand."  Then  put 
ting  out  both  hands  he  reached  over  and  took  her  cold, 
damp  ones  and  held  them  tightly  within  his  own  and, 
in  a  gentle,  inquiring  tone  of  voice,  said : 

"What  you  have  told  me  was  a  part  of  yesterday, 
why  burden  today  writh  it?  It  belongs  to  the  past, 
leave  it  there." 

"I  firmly  believed  I  had  done  so,"  replied  Mrs. 
Archer,  the  tears  springing  to  her  eyes,  "but  I  was  mis 
taken.  And  it  seems  as  though  it  were  going  to  be  an 
ever-present  companion  of  the  future." 


146  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Not  unless  you  permit  it  to  be  so,"  replied  the  doc 
tor,  gently  releasing  her  hands.  "It  is  our  thoughts  of 
yesterday  and  of  tomorrow  which  cause  us  to  lose  our 
precious  today,  neither  of  which  at  the  present  belong 
to  us ;  for,  mourn  as  we  will  our  regrettable  yesterdays, 
not  one  of  them  is  ours  in  which  to  re-live,  and  exist 
only  in  our  memories.  If  we  are  honest  with  today,  we 
shall  have  no  fear  of  the  tomorrow  nor  regrets  to  waste 
upon  yesterday." 

At  the  doctor's  last  words,  Mrs.  Archer  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  audibly. 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Archer,"  continued  the  doctor 
soothingly,  "that's  a  bad  way  to  take  my  advice.  Dry 
your  eyes  and  proceed  with  your  work." 

"Oh,  but  you  do  not  know,"  said  Mrs.  Archer,  rais 
ing  her  tear-stained  face  and  trying  vainly  to  control 
the  tears  in  her  voice,  "how  gladly  I  would  give  all  of 
my  yesterdays  for  the  privilege  of  remaining  in  your 
employ  today." 

"I'll  be  satisfied  with  your  todays,"  said  the  doctor 
gravely,  "and  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  con 
tinue  in  my  employ." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  promised " 

"I  see,  and  there  is  a  penalty  attached  if  you  do  not 
keep  that  promise  ?"  interrupted  the  doctor  inquiringly. 

"Yes,"  hesitatingly,  "Mrs.  Gordon  will  communicate 
with  my  parents." 


Mrs.  Archer  Becomes  Hannah  Thompson     147 

"No,  but  you  will,"  said  the  doctor  decidedly. 

"I !  oh  no, "  stammered  Mrs.  Archer.  "I  could 

not, You  do  not  understand My  mother,  she, 

I  know,  would  forgive  me,  but  my  father, — he  would 
curse  me  and  wish  me  dead  a  thousand  times." 

"Wishes,  good  or  bad,"  said  the  doctor  smiling, 
"have  neither  the  power  to  mend  nor  to  break  bones. 
However,  this  is  the  demand  of  today  and  you  must 
meet  it,  let  the  consequence  be  what  it  may.  Suppos 
ing,  in  your  place,  grown  to  manhood,  stood  little 
Ronald,  who  had  offended  society,  perhaps  not  just  in 
the  way  you  have  but  in  some  other  quite  as  grievous, 
would  you  wish  him  to  obliviate  himself  and  permit 
you  to  believe  him  dead  when  he  was  living  and  in  need 
of  the  love  and  protection  his  mother  could  give  him? 
I  think  not.  No  matter  what  the  transgression,  he 
would  still  be  your  son,  your  little  man,  your  baby 
Ronald,  and  you  would  love  him  in  spite  of  anything 
he  would  or  could  do.  Come  now,  be  fair  with  your 
self,  is  it  not  rather  a  question  of  pride  on  your  part 
than  consideration  for  your  parents  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  reluctantly  acknowledged  Mrs. 
Archer.  "But  you  don't  know  what  I  was  to  them. 
They,"  her  voice  breaking,  "idolized  me." 

"And  you  don't  want  them  to  know  their  idol  has 
fallen,  is  that  it?  And  yet  that  is  the  fate  of  all  idols." 

"I  wish  to  spare  them,  if  I  can,  the  keen  disappoint- 


148  The  Success  of  Failure 

ment  and  utter  humiliation  which  the  knowledge  of  my 
living  would  bring  to  them." 

"You  are  not  treating  them  fairly,"  said  the  doctor 
rising.  "You  are  rendering  a  verdict  without  a  hear 
ing  of  both  side  of  the  case." 

"If  so,"  said  she,  nervously  clasping  and  unclasping 
her  hands,  it  is  because  I  am  so  sure  of  the  verdict. 
You  see,"  despairingly,  "the  circumstances  are  such 
that  I  cannot  believe  any  other  possible." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  doctor.  "Do  you  think 
that  love  is  such  a  miserable,  weak  and  puny  thing  that 
it  can  be  hedged  in  by  the  world's  fence  of  respectabil 
ity?  And  are  you  the  only  one,  starting  on  the  road 
of  a  mistaken  love,  who  has  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
voice  of  consequence  when  he  has  pleaded  to  be  heard 
and  regarded  with  blinded  eyes  the  presence  of  his 
twin-brother,  caution ;  and  who,  today,  awakened  too 
late  to  the  inexorable  and  unpleasant  fact  that  conse 
quence  is  no  longer  to  be  considered  an  ally  if  caution 
be  ignored,  but  an  unconquerable  and  stubborn  enemy, 
bemoan  the  deafness  and  blindness  of  yesterday  ?  And 
are  you  the  only  one  who  has  unfortunately  committed 
what  society  publicly  considers  the  unpardonable  sin, 
and  which  she  so  loudly  denounces ;  but  which,  private 
ly,  she  so  often  condones  and  seeks  to  hide  and  tries  so 
hard  to  forget  ?  Are  you  ?" 

"No," 


Mrs.  Archer  Becomes  Hannah  Thompson      149 

"Then  write  to  your  parents  and  tell  them  the  truth." 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Archer,  shrinking  pite- 
ously  down  in  her  chair,  "that  I  cannot  do." 

"You  are  willing,  then,  to  go  further  and  let  con 
sequence  make  a  coward  of  you?"  queried  the  doctor. 
"You  are  very  foolish,  for  I  can  assure  you  there  is  no 
safety  in  the  obscurity  of  a  lie." 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  replied  she  despairingly,  "I  am' 
afraid !  I  am  afraid !" 

"And  of  what  are  you  afraid  ?"  asked  he  scornfully, 
beginning  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.  "The  judg 
ment  of  a  sinful  man  and  woman,  parents  though  they 
be?  It  is  imperfection  passing  judgment  upon  imper 
fection.  It  is  sin  calling  to  sin  in  terms  of  censure  or 
praise.  Can't  you  see  that  all  such  judgment  is  limited, 
and  for  that  reason  cannot  in  its  nature  be  true,  but  is 
bound  to  err?  That  is,  ail  human  judgment  is  never 
errorless  and  should,  therefore,  never  be  passed  by  the 
human  family  upon  its  individual  members, — and  that 
the  rising  or  falling  of  man  is  wholly  dependent  upon 
the  judgment  he  passes  upon  his  individual  self,  and 
with  him  abides  the  consequence  of  a  true  or  false 
verdict. 

As  the  doctor  was  speaking,  Mrs.  Archer's  face  lost 
somewhat  its  look  of  pathetic  hopelessness,  and  there 
came  into  it  one  of  astonishment  and  not  a  little  alarm 
as  her  big  eyes  in  wide  open  amazement  followed  him 


150  The  Success  of  Failure 

as  he  walked  toward  the  window.  When  he  had 
finished,  however,  and  come  back  and  stood  in  front 
of  her,  an  expression  of  understanding  had  taken  pos 
session  and,  smiling  sadly,  she  nodded  comprehendingly 
up  at  him  and  said : 

"You  are  right,  doctor,  and  I  am  wrong.  I  will 
write  to  my  parents  tonight." 

"Good !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  his  grave  face  light 
ening  up  with  a  smile  she  had  never  before  seen  it  wear. 
"Bathe  your  face  and  put  your  cap  on,"  continued  he, 
taking  her  hands  and  raising  her  to  her  feet,  "and  get 
ready  for  work,  for  the  correspondence,"  waving  his 
hand  toward  a  pile  of  unopened  letters  and  papers  lying 
upon  his  desk,  "is  unusually  large." 

The  doctor  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  Mrs.  Archer, 
her  mind  inexpressibly  relieved,  hurried  in  to  her  office 
and  prepared  herself  and  desk  for  work.  Never  before 
in  the  past  years  of  her  life  had  she  felt  so  light- 
hearted,  so  absolutely  free.  The  words  of  the  doctor 
as  he  retraced  his  steps  from  the  window  remained 
with  her.  What  a  relief  it  was  to  know  the  only  con 
demnation  she  had  really  to  fear  was  her  own ;  that  she 
alone  was  her  judge,  and  that  her  standing  or  falling 
was  determined  by  that  judgment.  All  that  others 
might  say  or  do  could  not  make  one  hair  black  or 
white,  could  not  change  the  real  Hannah  Thompson 
one  iota ;  the  responsibility  was  hers  and  could  not  be 


Mrs.  Archer  Becomes  Hannah  Thompson      151 

ignored,  and  whether  she  would  or  no,  she  would,  at 
some  time  or  other,  be  forced  out  into  the  open  to 
render  a  verdict  for  or  against  herself. 

While  these  thoughts  were  occupying  Mrs.  Archer's 
mind,  the  doctor  was  busily  engaged  in  the  examination 
of  his  mail,  marking  the  most  important  communica 
tions  for  reply  and  leaving  the  others  for  some  time 
later  in  the  day.  Then  he  took  his  hat  and  coat  from 
the  rack  and,  throwing  the  latter  over  his  arm  and 
holding  the  former  in  his  hand,  he  walked  into  Mrs. 
Archer's  office,  and  said : 

"Before  attending  to  the  mail,  get  that  letter  off  to 
your  parents." 

"I  will,"  she  replied. 

"And  your  name  ?"  he  queried. 

"Will  be  Hannah  Thompson,"  she  answered. 

"I  am  glad  that  is  your  decision,"  said  he  with  an 
approving  smile. 

"Well,"  putting  on  his  coat,  "I  must  be  oft.  If 
Thompson  comes  in,  please  ask  him  to  wait." 

"I  will,"  said  she,  and  the  doctor  hurried  out. 

She  waited  until  she  heard  the  street-door  close  be 
hind  him,  and  then  took  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  drawer 
and  inserted  it  into  the  typewriter  and  unhesitatingly 
began  to  write  the  letter  to  her  father  and  mother.  It 
read: 


152  The  Success  of  Failure 

40  Osborne  Avenue,  Littletown. 
Dear  Father  and  Mother: 

This  letter,  I  know,  will  come  to  you  as  a  great  surprise 
and  terrible  shock,  believing,  as  you  must  now  do,  that  I 
have  long  ceased  to  be  numbered  among  the  living  in  the 
world.  My  disappearance  from  home  and  my  silence 
during  the  past  six  years  I  shall  not  attempt  to  explain  in 
this  letter;  it  would  take  too  long  and  cause  you  suffering. 
Suffice  to  say  I  thought  it  best.  Conditions  have  arisen, 
however,  which  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  wish  to  keep 
you  a  moment  longer  in  ignorance  of  my  whereabouts, 
and  write  to  ask  you  to  come  and  see  me  as  soon  as 
possible,  when  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  those  sad,  yet 
profitable,  years.  Lovingly  your  daughter, 

HANNAH. 

When  the  letter  was  finished  and  placed  in  an  en 
velope,  sealed  and  stamped,  and  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Franklin  Thompson,  Dawson,  N.  Y.,  she  arose  and 
took  off  her  cap  and,  taking  her  long,  black  coat  from 
a  nail  at  the  back  of  the  door,  put  it  on  and  went  out 
and  dropped  the  letter  in  the  mail-box  a  few  doors  from 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FRANK'S  INDISPOSITION  AND  A  TELEPHONE  CALL  FROM 
MRS.  GORDON 

"TJAVE  you  been  waiting  long?"  inquired  the  doctor, 
1  1  who  had  returned  from  making  his  morning 
calls  upon  his  patients. 

"About  half-an-hour,  I  guess,"  replied  Frank  from 
his  chair  by  the  window. 

"Oh,  that  isn't  very  long,"  said  the  doctor, 'hanging 
up  his  coat  and  hat. 

"No,"  agreed  Frank.  "I  haven't  noticed  the  time, 
for  I  have  been  so  interested  in  observing  the  faces  of 
the  men  and  women  who  have  passed  here.  It  seems 
strange,  too,  for  I  never  paid  much  attention  to  people 
before,  nor  noticed  closely  the  faces  of  those  I  met." 

"Never  took  the  time,  I  suppose,"  said  the  doctor, 
stretching  himself  out  upon  the  couch. 

"No,  it  wasn't  that ;  it  was  more  a  matter  of  indiffer 
ence,  I  think,"  replied  Frank,  rising  and  leaving  the 
window  and  seating  himself  in  a  chair  nearer  the 
doctor. 

"And  what  makes  the  difference,  now  ?" 


154  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  the  work  I'm  engaged  in," 
replied  Frank  smiling. 

"I  see,"  said  the  doctor  laughing,  "every  face  means 
a  prospective  patient.  What  success  have  you  had,  so 
far?" 

"Not  any.  All  those  I  have  spoken  to  insist  they 
are  perfectly  well  and  have  no  need  of  a  physician." 

"But  what  about  yourself,  Frank  ?"  asked  the  doctor 
earnestly. 

"Well,"  said  Frank,  hanging  his  head  sheepishly, 
"my  pursuit  for  patients  has  made  me  aware  that  I  am 
not  altogether  well  and  have  quite  a  few  disorders." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "What  are  the 
symptoms  ?  How  do  they  affect  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say,"  replied  Frank,  speaking  slowly, 
"that  the  symptoms  are  so  marked,  but  that  may  be  be 
cause  they  are  so  prevalent.  Nevertheless,  they  are 
none  the  less  revolutionary." 

"You  mean,"  queried  the  doctor,  "they  defy  all 
remedial  agents  ?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  should  put  it  that  way,"  replied 
Frank.  "Perhaps  the  right  remedy  has  not  been  ap 
plied." 

"Can  you  think  of  any  to  suggest?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  as  I  can." 

"And  you  want  me  to  prescribe  a  remedy,  is  that  it  ?" 
asked  the  doctor  with  a  quizzical  look. 


Frank's  Indisposition  and  a  Telephone  Call     155 

"If  you  can  prescribe  the  right  one,  I  certainly  do." 

"In  the  seeking  of  patients,  you  will  find  it  yourself. 
I  can  prescribe  no  other.  To  know,  you  are  sick  is  a 
great  step  toward  becoming  well,  but  to  be  ignorant  of 
sickness  is  to  court  death." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  leave  the  impression,"  said 
Frank,  laughing,  "that  I  am  very  ill.  I  just  feel  kind 
of  out  of  sorts." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  said  the  doctor,  rising  in  response 
to  the  ring  of  the  telephone-bell.  "Well,  just  continue 
in  your  pursuit  of  patients." 

"Hallo,"  said  he,  when  he  reached  the  telephone  and 
held  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  "who  is  this  ?" 

"It  is  I,  Bob,"  said  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Gordon.  "Is 
Mrs.  Archer  there  ?" 

"No,"  replied  the  doctor,  "she  left  this  morning. 
Miss  Thompson  is  here,  though.  Would  you  like  to 
speak  to  her  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  for  several  seconds,  and  the 
doctor  laughed  inwardly  at  what  he  imagined  must  be 
his  sister's  discomfiture.  Then,  rather  undecidedly,  she 
said,  "Y-e-s,  I  guess  so." 

"Miss  Thompson,"  called  the  doctor,  "Mrs.  Gordon 
has  called  up  and  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

"I'll  be  right  there,  doctor,"  responded  Mrs.  Archer, 
or  Hannah  Thompson,  as  we  shall  now  begin  to  call 
her,  and  rising  from  her  desk  she  came  hurriedly  to  the 


156  The  Success  of  Failure 

telephone  and  took  the  receiver  from  the  doctor's  hand. 
And  he,  instead  of  going  back  to  the  couch,  as  she  ex 
pected  he  would  do,  stood  quietly  beside  her  to  catch 
the  words  of  his  sister  as  they  came  over  the  wire. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  asked  she  imperatively. 
"And  why  did  you  not  telephone  me  as  you  agreed?" 

"It  means,"  replied  Hannah,  "that  your  brother  has 
shown  me  the  folly  of  such  a  course  and  induced  me 
to  forsake  it." 

"I  see,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sarcastically,  "and  you, 
now,  of  course,  have  no  intention  of  leaving  his  em 
ploy.  Well,  I  shall  do  what  I  said  I  would,  'write  to 
your  parents.'  " 

"That  will  not  be  necessary,"  replied  Hannah 
triumphantly;  "for  I  have  already  written  to  them." 

"Even  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  angrily,  "can't  you  see 
that,  although  it  may  mean  your  salvation,  your  pres 
ence  in  my  brother's  office  can  only  prove  ruinous  to 
his  reputation  and  practice  ?  Surely  you  cannot  desire 
either?" 

Before  Hannah  could  reply,  the  receiver  was  taken 
from  her  hand  and  the  doctor,  motioning  her  to  one 
side,  took  up  the  conversation  with  his  sister,  and 
Hannah,  glad  to  escape,  went  back  to  her  office. 

"This  is  a  question  which  I  must  answer,  Margaret," 
said  the  doctor  emphatically,  "for  it  is  one  with  which 
Miss  Thompson  has  nothing  to  do,  she  being  in  no  way 


Frank's  Indisposition  and  a  Telephone  Call     157 

responsible  for  my  reputation  or  practice ;  I,  alone,  am 
answerable  for  their  indestructibility." 

"Indeed,"  retorted  Mrs.  Gordon  sneeringly.  Then  I 
should  think  you  would  take  some  better  means  of 
preserving  them  than  that  of  retaining  a  woman  of 
questionable  character  in  your  office, — no  matter  in 
what  capacity.  If  you  persist  in  doing  so,  I  warn  you 
that  I  shall  consider  all  relationship  between  us  at  an 
end,  and  you  will  cease  to  be  my  brother  and  I  your 
sister.  The  cause  of  the  outcast  you  have?  made  yours ; 
therefore,  the  conditions  which  govern  the  life  of  the 
outcast  must  be  yours  also. — which  is  to  be  pitied  but 
never  loved,  to  be  suffered  but  never  sanctioned,  to  be 
numbered,  forever  and  always,  as  sfie  is,  among  the 
world's  undesirables." 

"I  can  stand  it,  if  you  can,"  replied  the  doctor,  his 
face  darkening.  "However,  I  am  afraid  my  loss  will 
hardly  be  your  gain.  That  you  may  thrust  me  out,  is 
true ;  but  who  can  say  what  day  shall  not  witness  your 
departure  from  the  city  of  comfort  and  ease  for  the 
valley  of  loneliness;  only,  in  due  time,  to  be  driven 
therefrom,  by  its  gray  skies,  its  mournful  surroundings 
and  the  low-moaning  chant  of  its  inhabitants,  to  the 
plains  of  despair,  whose  ever-extending,  terrifying  dis 
tances  compel  you,  later  on.  to  flee  then  for  the  moun 
tain  of  impossibility,  from  which,  in  painful  perplexity, 


158  The  Success  of  Failure 

you  turn  and  arrive  at  last  in  the  wilderness  of  no-way- 
out." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gordon  im 
patiently.  "If  you  are  not  very  careful,  you  will  live  to 
fulfill  your  own  prediction." 

"We  shall  see,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"So  we  shall,"  returned  she  sharply.  "But  surely, 
Bob,"  pleadingly,  "there  are  plenty  of  nurses  of  good 
character  and  with  blameless  pasts  whose  services  you 
could  secure  and  who  would  be  as  capable  as  Hannah 
Thompson.  Why,  therefore,  do  you  persist  in  keeping 
her?" 

"Because  I  am  a  physician,"  replied  the  doctor  de 
cisively,  "and  'they  that  are  whole  need  not  a 
physician.'  " 

An  angry  click  from  the  other  end  of  the  wire  was 
the  only  response  the  doctor  received.  Sighing,  he 
placed  the  receiver  back  on  its  hook  and  turned  slowly 
from  the  telephone,  saying  to  himself  as  he  did  so, 
"Poor  Margaret,  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  be  before 
the  truth  of  the  words,  the  sin  of  omission  oft-times 
makes  the  sin  of  commission  possible,  penetrates 
through  that  conventional  shell  of  yours."  Then  step 
ping  over  to  where  Frank  sat,  a  silent  and  amazed 
listener,  not  dreaming  of  the  relationship  that  existed 
between  him  and  Hannah  and  which  later  was  to  be 
revealed,  he  said : 


Frank's  Indisposition  and  a  Telephone  Call    159 

"That  would  be  a  good  patient  for  you  to  seek, 
Frank.  We  will  discuss  it  further,"  smiling  gravely  at 
the  look  of  dismay  that  overspread  Frank's  face,  "down 
stairs  at  the  table,  for  you,  of  course,  are  going  to  stay 
and  take  luncheon  with  me." 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  the  latter,"  replied 
Frank,  rising  from  his  chair,  "but,"  throwing  his  hands 
impotently  out,  "to  attempt  the  former  is  too  great  an 
undertaking  for  me  to  think  about." 

"We'll  decide  that  later,"  said  the  doctor,  walking 
over  to  the  wash-bowl  and  washing  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  THOMPSON  VISITS  HER  DAUGHTER 

"|T  is  I,  Martha,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  to  the  much 
J[  surprised  and  frightened  negress  who  opened  the 
door  in  response  to  her  ring  of  the  bell,  and  who  now 
stood  petrified  in  the  doorway.  "It's  all  right,  Miss 
Hannah  expects  me,"  continued  she  assuringly,  gently 
pushing  the  door  open  and  stepping  into  the  hall,  "I 
received  a  letter  from  her  this  morning.  Is  she  in?" 

"N-o, — m-a-a-m, — "  gaspeh  Martha,  leaning  weakly 
and  wide-eyed  against  the  wall. 

"Will  she  be  in  soon?" 

"No, — yes, — I — don't — know — "  stammered  Martha, 
not  knowing  just  what  her  mistress  would  have  her 
say. 

"Well,  just  close  the  door,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson, 
smiling  understandingly,  "and  I  will  go  in  here  and 
wait,"  and  she  turned  toward  a  door  standing  partly 
open,  in  which  room  Ronald  lay  asleep  upon  a  couch. 

"Dat  room  am  oc'i'pied,  ma'am,"'  said  Martha,  now 
wonderfully  alert,  and  brushing  quickly  past  she  pulled 
the  door  to.  Not  for  worlds,  if  she  could  help  it,  should 

160 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          161 

Mrs.  Thompson  see  her  grandson  without  his  mother's 
knowledge  and  consent. 

"Oh,  I  see,  then  show  me  into  Miss  Hannah's  room." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Martha,  stepping  back  to  close 
the  front-door  and  then  leading  the  way  to  a  room  at 
the  end  of  the  short  and  narrow  hall,  the  door  of  which 
stood  wide  open.  "Dis  am  Miss  Hannah's  room." 

"Thank  you,  Martha,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson,  enter 
ing  and  seating  herself  in  the  only  comfortable  chair 
the  room  contained.  "Do  you  think  I'll  have  to  wait 
very  long?" 

"Don'  know,  ma'am,  can't  say,"  replied  the  non 
committal  Martha,  her  bent  form  and  grizzled  head  re 
treating  down  the  hall.  When  she  reached  the  door  of 
the  room  in  which  Ronald  slept,  she  stopped,  and  noise 
lessly  pushed  it  open.  Entering,  she  tiptoed  quietly 
over  to  the  couch  upon  which  he  was  lying  and  gently 
picked  up  a  little  hand  which  had  strayed  from  under 
the  covers  and  placed  it  back  again.  Then  with  a  dole 
ful  shake  of  the  head  she  murmured : 

"Its  don'  come  at  las',  honey,  as  I  s'pected  it  would, 
and  der's  noddin'  to  do  but  to  let  yo'  mammy  know, — 
but  how?  Can't  use  dat  tel'phone  in  mammy's  room, 
cause  she  hear  all  I  say.  Noddin'  to  do  but  go  down 
stairs,"  switching  off  her  apron  and  pulling  down  her 
sleeves.  "Reckon  yo'  wake  up  'fore  I  gets  back?" 
queried  she  anxiously  as  she  reached  the  door.  "Don' 


1 62  The  Success  of  Failure 

do  dat,  honey,  nohow,  Marta'll  be  right  back,"  and  she 
drew  the  door  softly  to  behind  her. 

However,  Martha  had  hardly  reached  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  before  Ronald  began  to  stir  and  was  soon  wide 
awake.  Stretching  his  little  arms,  in  baby- fashion,  over 
his  head,  he  laid  quietly  so  for  several  moments.  Then, 
lowering  them,  he  pushed  down  the  covers  and  sat  up 
and,  turning  sideways,  rolled  over  on  his  stomach  and 
slipped  to  the  floor,  where  he  stood  and  began  to  call, 
"Marta,  Marta,  I  awake!  I  awake,  Marta!"  Getting 
no  response,  the  little  fellow,  with  wondering  face,  felt 
his  way  with  his  baby-hands  to  the  door  and,  rinding  the 
knob,  turned  it  and  pulled  the  door  open  and  went  into 
the  hall,  all  the  time  calling  plaintively,  "Marta,  Marta, 
I  awake !  I  awake,  Marta."  But  there  came  no  answer 
from  Martha,  and  the  look  of  wonder  on  the  face  of  the 
child  became  one  of  fear,  for  never  before  in  his  short 
life  had  Martha  failed  to  hasten  to  him  or  to  answer 
his  first  call.  Standing  there,  he  vainly  listened  for 
half-a-minute  for  a  sound  which  would  locate  to  his 
baby-hearing  Martha's  whereabouts,  and  then  slowly 
groped  his  way  through  the  hall  to  his  mother's  room, 
crying  pitifully  all  the  while,  "Marta,  Marta,  I  awake ! 
I  awake,  Marta!" 

When  he  reached  the  doorway,  Mrs.  Thompson, 
ignorant  of  the  child's  lack  of  vision,  with  smiling  as 
surance  beckoned  him  to  come  to  her,  to  which  invita- 


Hrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          163 

tion,  to  her  surprise,  he  paid  not  the  least  attention,  al 
though  his  eyes  appeared  fixed  upon  her.  Then  she 
arose,  and  the  faint  sound  of  her  swaying  garments  as 
she  walked  toward  him,  seemed,  in  a  measure,  to  reas 
sure  the  now  thoroughly  frightened  child,  who  could 
hear  but  see  nothing ;  for  he  immediately  stopped  cry 
ing  and,  putting  out  his  baby-hands  in  a  self-protecting 
sort  of  way,  moved  slowly  toward  the  direction  of  the 
sound,  saying  in  a  reproachful,  enquiring  tone : 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me,  Marta  ?" 

"I  am  not  Martha,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  sooth 
ingly,  not  wishing  to  startle  the  child  whose  question 
and  movements  now  made  his  blindness  evident. 
"Martha  has  gone  out,  I  think,  but  she  will  soon  be 
back,"  quickly  added  she,  very  gently  taking  one  of  the 
little  extended  hands  and  holding  it  within  her  own. 

"Where's  Marta  gone  ?"  asked  Ronald,  again  begin 
ning  to  cry  and  reluctantly  permitting  Mrs.  Thompson 
to  lead  him  back  to  her  chair. 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  sitting 
down  in  her  chair  and  lifting  Ronald  upon  her  lap. 
"Anyway,  you  are  not  going  to  cry,  are  you  ?  She  has 
gone,  I  rather  suspect,  to  telephone." 

"Why  didn't  she  tel'phone  with  mother's  telephone?" 
asked  Ronald,  sitting  straight  up  on  her  lap. 

"And  who  is  mother,  little  man?" 

"My  mother  is  Mrs.  Archer." 


164  The  Success  of  Failure 

"And  where  is  mother's  telephone  ?" 

"In  here ;  this  is  mother's  room." 

"You  are  mistaken,  I  think,  dear.  Martha  told  me 
this  was  my  daughter's  room,  and  her  name  is  Thomp 
son." 

"Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Ronald.  "I  'faid  you're  in  the 
w'ong  'partment.  Only  mother,  Marta  and  I  live 
here." 

The  arms  which  held  the  child  relaxed  and  a  troubled 
look  came  into  the  eyes  that  were  now  closely  scanning 
the  little,  blind  face.  "Was  it  possible  that  this,  then, 
was  the  explanation  ?"  she  anxiously  asked  herself. 
"Was  this  little,  blind  boy  sitting  on  her  lap  Hannah's 
child,  and  his  being  spoke  of  something  that  should 
not  have  been?"  She  had  not  even  dreamed  of  this. 
Every  other  misfortune  that  it  was  possible  to  imagine 
she  had  thought  of ;  but  this, — it  was  too  dreadful 

Very  gently  she  put  Ronald  down  upon  the  floor, 
where  he  stood  at  her  knee,  and  feeling  strangely  faint 
and  ill  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  "What  would  her 
father  say?"  She  dreaded  to  think  of  the  effect  the 
intelligence  would  have  upon  him,  and  the  duty  of 
imparting  it  she  devoutly  wished  lay  with  someone 
other  than  herself.  True,  this  same  thing  had  hap 
pened  heretofore  and  would  happen  again  to  other 
people's  daughters ;  but  that  it  should  have  befallen 
their  Hannah  was  inconceivable But,  perhaps, 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          165 

after  all,  it  was  not  so  and  she  had  been  too  hasty  in 
arriving  at  a  conclusion.  She  would  wait. 

She  had  not  to  wait  very  long  for  the  confirmation 
of  her  fears :  for  Ronald,  hearing  the  opening  of  the 
hall-door  accompanied  by  hurrying  footsteps,  called 
out,  as  he  moved  slowly  away  from  her  knee  toward 
the  door,  "Marta,  I'm  in  here  with  the  stwange  lady. 
Did  you  go  out  to  teFphone  mother?" 

"What  made  yo'  t'ink  I  teFphone,,  yo'  little  ra'cal?" 
laughed  Martha,  rushing  to  him  as  he  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

"Lady  said  she  s'pected  so,"  replied  Ronald  as 
Martha  picked  him  up  in  her  arms  and  started  to  carry 
him  out  to  the  kitchen.  "Is  mother's  teFphone  out  of 
order?" 

"Hush !"  whispered   Martha. 

"Why  must  I ,"  but  the  rest  of  the  question  was 

lost  in  the  black  hand  which  gently  covered  his  mouth. 

An  hour  of  waiting  elapsed — an  hour  of  indescriba 
ble  mental  agony  for  Airs.  Thompson — before  Hannah 
threw  open  the  hall-door  and,  leaving  it  open,  rushed 
in.  At  the  sound  of  the  hurrying  steps,  Mrs.  Thomp 
son  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet.  A  momentary  glance, 
that  was  all,  and  without  a  word  uttered  by  either, 
mother  and  daughter  were  in  each  other's  arms.  There 
were  no  tears,  no  cries,  no  heart-broken  sobs ;  naught 
but  an  overwhelming  silence.  At  last,  the  trembling 


1 66  The  Success  of  Failure 

of  her  mother's  body  recalled  Hannah's  power  of 
speech  and,  tenderly  unclasping  her  mother's  arms 
from  about  her  and  placing  her  gently  back  in  her 
chair,  she  said : 

"Poor  mother,  this  indeed  has  been  a  terrible  shock 
to  you." 

At  these  words,  spoken  by  the  voice  of  her  daughter, 
a  voice  not  heard  by  her  for  so  many  years,  Mrs. 
Thompson's  eyes  rilled  with  tears  and,  as  she  continued 
to  gaze  speechlessly  upon  the  face  of  her  child,  ran 
unregarded  down  her  cheeks. 

Censure,  Hannah  could  have  borne ;  coldness  or  un 
kind  words  she  could  have  met  calmly,  but  tears — that 
rain  of  tears — and  the  infinite  love  and  sorrow  ex 
pressed  in  those  tears,  were  too  much,  and  broke  down 
and  swept  away,  as  though  it  had  never  been  there,  the 
wall  of  human  error  which  she  had  permitted  to  sepa 
rate  her  from  her  mother  for  the  past  six  years.  Gone 
they  were, — and  with  a  great  sobbing  sigh  she  fell 
down  upon  her  knees  at  the  side  of  her  mother  and 
laid  her  head  in  her  lap  much  as  she  had  been  wont  to 
do  when  a  child.  Soothingly,  the  mother's  hand  passed 
over  the  light-brown  hair,  and  in  its  touch  was  mani 
fested  that  wonderful,  but  indescribable  thing,  the  one 
ness  of  mother  and  child. 

At  last  the  soothing,  stroking  motion  ceased,  and  two 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          167 

soft  hands  were  placed  under  Hannah's  chin  and  caused 
her  to  slowly  raise  her  head. 

"Why  did  you  not  come  and  make  known  your 
troubles  to  your  mother,  my  child?"  asked  Mrs, 
Thompson,  looking  compassionately  down  into  the  piti 
ful,  working  face. 

"I  could  not  then,"  chokingly  replied  Hannah,  rising 
to  her  feet  and  feeling  in  her  coat  pocket  for  her  hand 
kerchief,  with  which  she  wiped  the  tears  from  her  face. 
"My  one  thought,  at  that  time,"  taking  the  pins  out  of 
her  mother's  hat  and  laying  it  over  on  the  couch,  "was 
to  hide  myself  from  all  those  who  had  known  me  and 
I  had  known.  I  believed,  then,"  helping  her  mother  off 
with  her  coat  and  placing  it  under  the  hat,  "my  duty 
was  to  obliterate  myself  and  thus  spare  you  and  father 
the  humiliating  sorrow  of  knowing  the  miserable  mis 
take  I  had  made." 

Mrs.  Thompson  sighed  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"And  what  of  your  mother  ?"  she  asked,  as  Hannah 
took  off  her  own  hat  and  coat  and  hung  them  up  on  a 
hook  in  the  wardrobe  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  "Did  you  think  it  possible  that  she  could  so 
completely  shut  you  out  of  her  heart  ?  And  what  right 
had  you  to  deny  me  the  privilege  of  sharing  and  bear 
ing  with  you  the  consequence  of  your  acts  ?" 

Hannah  moved  a  chair  nearer  her  mother's  and  sat 
down. 


1 68  Tlic  Success  of  Failure 

"I  could  not,  then,  mother,  I  simply  could  not,"  re 
plied  she,  putting  her  hand  up  and  taking  the  one  her 
mother  was  about  to  lay  upon  her  shoulder  and  holding 
it  firmly  between  her  own  in  her  lap.  "That  it  was 
wrong,  I  now  fully  realize;  and  that  you  and  father 
were  not  acquainted,  long  ago,  with  the  fact  that  David 
Haven  and  myself  had  determined  upon  entering  into 
a  trial  marriage,  I  shall  always  regret.  That  we  were 
both  young,  may,  perhaps,  be  some  excuse,  I  do  not 
know,  for  wishing  to  take  an  untried  and  forbidden 
road  in  our  quest  for  happiness.  Because  what  we  had 
decided  upon  was  the  exceptional,  we  both  argued,  it 
need  not,  necessarily,  result  unhappily.  But,  unfor 
tunately,  it  did;  the  way  we  took  was  too  broad  and 
we  lost  each  other.  And  it  was  such  a  greedy  thor 
oughfare,  mother;  its  demands  were  so  heavy  that  they 
who  lingered  there  were  never  able  to  meet  its  bills. 
Your  youth,  never  more  to  be  regained,  you  left  there. 
Your  good  name  it  swallowed  up,  and  you  searched  in 
vr.in  to  find  it.  It  would  take  all  that  you  possessed, 
and  then,  grinning,  leave  you  standing  helpless  and 
alone." 

"My  poor  Hannah,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson  con 
solingly. 

"In  a  way,  yes,"  agreed  Hannah.  "But  it  did  not 
rob  me  of  all ;  I  started  back  in  time  to  keep  my  child. 
Have  you  seen  him  ?" 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          169 

"Yes,  he  found  his  way  in  here  when  he  failed  to 
find  Martha  upon  waking  up." 

"Dear  little  man,  it  was  the  first  time  she  ever  left 
him,  unless  it  was  with  me.  Good,  old  Martha,  but  for 
her  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done.  From  the 
night  I  left  home,  when  she  followed  me,  and  in  order 
to  prevent  a  scene  at  the  depot  we  were  forced  to  take 
her  with  us,  she  has  served  me  faithfully  and  well." 

"Oh,  yes,"  smiled  Mrs.  Thompson,  "there  never  was 
any  doubt  in  my  mind  that  where  we  should  find  you 
we  also  should  find  Martha." 

Hannah  smiled  and  got  up. 

"I  must  go  out  and  announce  myself  to  Ronald,"  she 
said,  "or  he  will  be  terribly  disappointed." 

"Yes,  do,  and  bring  him  in  and  introduce  him  to  his 
grandmother." 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come  with  me,"  sug 
gested  Hannah. 

"No,  I  do  not  want  to  trouble  Martha  needlessly. 
She,  no  doubt,  is  preparing  luncheon." 

"Very  well,  I'll  be  right  back,"  and  Hannah's  steps 
quickened  as  she  passed  into  the  hall. 

Pretty  soon  she  came  back  carrying  Ronald,  and 
Mrs.  Thompson  held  out  her  arms  for  the  child. 

"Ronald,"  said  his  mother,  "I  am  going  to  present 
you  to  your  grandmother,  and  I  want  you  to  love  her 
as  much  as  vou  do  mother." 


170  The  Success  of  Failure 

"What  is  g'andmother,  mother?"  asked  Ronald  as 
Hannah  placed  him  in  Mrs.  Thompson's  arms. 

"Your  mother's  mother,  honey-boy." 

"Do  you  yuv  her,  mother?"  asked  he,  sitting  straight 
up  on  his  grandmother's  lap. 

"Why,  of  course,  little  man." 

"Then  I  yuv  her,"  said  Ronald,  getting  to  his  knees 
on  her  lap,  and  Mrs.  Thompson  felt  the  pressure  of  two 
little  arms  about  her  neck  and  a  curly-head  pressed 
close  to  her  own.  For  several  moments,  while  his 
mother  stood  silently  looking  on,  his  grandmother  held 
him  tightly  within  her  arms.  Then  Ronald,  bent  upon 
investigation,  threw  back  his  head  and  withdrew  his 
arms  from  around  her  neck  and  began  to  pass  his  hands 
slowly  over  her  face. 

"You're  bootiful,  too,"  he  said  finally,  straightening 
out  his  legs  and  establishing  himself  more  comfortably 
upon  her  lap. 

"You  think  so?"  inquired  Mrs.  Thompson,  into 
whose  eyes  the  tears  were  coming ;  and  it  was  only  the 
prompt  intervention  of  Hannah's  handkerchief  which 
prevented  their  overflow.  With  a  downward,  warning 
shake  of  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  child,  his 
mother  wiped  the  tears  away,  saying  brightly,  at  the 
same  time,  to  conceal  from  her  boy  her  own  and  her 
mother's  agitation, — 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          171 

"Your  grandmother,  I  am  sure,  thanks  you  for  the 
compliment,  little  son." 

"But  I  fink  you  are.  too,  mother." 

"Of  course,  darling,"  laughed  Hannah,  "and  mother 
is  not  at  all  jealous.  She  is  perfectly  willing  to  share 
your  baby-heart  with  grandmother." 

But  Ronald,  apparently,  was  not  of  the  same  mind 
and  objected,  somewhat,  to  having  his  affections  thus 
dispensed  with;  for,  squirming  around,  he  turned  his 
back  upon  his  grandmother  and,  stretching  his  little 
arms  upwards  to  where  he  believed  his  mother  stood, 
he  said: 

"Come  and  take  me." 

"In  a  little  while,  darling,"  said  Hannah,  falling 
down  upon  her  knees  on  the  rug  by  the  side  of  her 
mother  and  taking  her  boy's  hand  within  her  own ;  "but 
mother  has  something  else  to  say  to  her  little  man,  first. 
You  see,  dear,  grandmother  has  never  had  a  little  boy 
to  love  or  to  love  her,  and  it  is  a  long,  long  time  since 
she  had  a  little  girl.  "Mother  was  her  little  girl,  but  she 
grew  up  and  forgot  about  it.  Grandmother  did  not — 
and  now,  because  you  belong  to  that  little  girl,  she  loves 
you  and  not  only  gives  you  the  place  that  that  little 
girl  occupied,  but  has  made  a  brand-new  place  in  her 
heart  for  you.  You  and  I,  babykin,  must  live  to  be 
worthy  of  that  brand-new  place,  for  in  no  heart  but  a 
mother's  are  we  able  to  find  it.  And,  darling,  mother 


172  The  Success  of  Failure 

wants  you  to  know  when  you  are  loving  grandmother 
she  will  feel  you  are  doubly  loving  her." 

"You  mean,"  said  Ronald  slowly,  "if  I  yuv  g'and- 
mother,  I  yuv  you  two  times." 

"Yes,  little  man,  that  is  just  what  mother  means." 

Just  at  that  moment  Martha  came  through  the  hall. 

"Lunch  is  served,  ma'am,"  she  said. 

"Very  well,  Martha,"  replied  Hannah,  "come  and  get 
Ronald ;"  and  picking  up  her  boy  from  her  mother's 
lap  she  placed  him  in  Martha's  arms,  and,  as  she  car 
ried  him  out,  Mrs.  Thompson  rose  to  her  feet. 

"He  is  a  dear,  little  fellow,"  said  she,  "but  how  pa 
thetically  sad  it  is  that  he  is  blind." 

"It  is,  indeed,"  replied  her  daughter ;  "but,"  musing 
ly,  "do  you  know,  sometimes  I  am  rather  glad  that  he 
is  blind  for,  consequently,  much  of  the  evil  of  the  world 
he  will  escape." 

"That  is  true,"  agreed  her  mother;  "but,  likewise, 
how  many  of  its  beauties  he  must  forego." 

"That  is  so,  of  course/'  said  her  daughter  with  a 
sigh.  "However,  I  try  to  find  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  what  he  has  not  seen  he  cannot  miss." 

"Is  his  blindness,  then,  so  permanently  hopeless?" 

"Doctor  Ross  does  not  think  so." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that.    Who  is  Doctor  Ross  ?" 

"A  wonderful  man  and  an  excellent  physician.  I  am 
employed  by  him  as  correspondent  and  office-nurse." 


Mrs.  Thompson  Visits  Her  Daughter          173 

"That  is  strange,  I  have  never  heard  of  him." 

"I  thought  you  might  have  heard  something  about 
him  from  Mrs.  George  Leigh,  for  he  is  her  physician." 

"Then  you  know  of  George's  marriage,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson,  a  note  of  sympathy  in  her  voice  as  she 
followed  her  daughter  into  the  hall.  "He  married 
less  than  two  years  ago  your  old  friend  and  school 
mate,  Elizabeth  Sand. 

"I  know  it.  Indeed,  my  communicating  with  you 
and  father  was  due  indirectly  to  a  visit  she  paid  to  the 
doctor's  office  one  morning.  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it  after  we  have  had  luncheon." 

They  entered  the  dining-room  where  they  found 
Ronald  seated  in  his  high-chair  at  the  table.  Martha, 
just  a  few  moments  before,  had  placed  in  front  of  him 
a  bowl  partly  filled  with  chicken  soup,  which,  hungry 
though  he  was,  he  made  no  attempt  to  eat,  but  sat 
patiently  waiting  for  his  mother  and  the  "stwange 
lady,"  as  he  persisted  in  calling  his  grandmother  when 
he  spoke  of  her  to  Martha,  to  come  in  and  sit  down 
at  the  table.  He  clapped  his  tiny  hands  as  they  came 
into  the  room. 

"You  may  begin  now,  darling,  here  is  your  spoon," 
;^aid  his  mother,  picking  up  a  spoon  which  lay  at  the 
side  of  his  bowl  and  putting  it  in  his  hand.  "You  may 
sit  here,  mother,"  continued  she,  drawing  out  a  chair 
from  one  side  of  the  table,  "and,"  by  a  movement  of 


174  The  Success  of  Failure 

her  hand  indicating  a  chair  at  the  opposite  side,  "I 
will  sit  over  there." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  they  had  finished  eating 
their  luncheon,  and  Mrs.  Thompson  was  back  again 
in  the  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  Hannah  hav 
ing  stopped  outside  for  a  few  minutes  to  superintend 
the  dressing  of  Ronald,  whom  Martha  was  going  to 
take  out  for  a  short  walk,  his  mother  thinking  it  wise 
to  so  dispose  of  him  while  she  talked  with  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Thompson  surveyed  the  little  room  with  its 
meagre  furnishings,  and  sadly  contrasted  it  with  one 
handsomely  furnished  now  unoccupied  at  Dawson — 
Hannah's  room.  Her  heart  ached  for  this  girl  of  hers, 
and  she  longed  to  see  her  once  more  in  possession  of 
her  old  room  with  its  attendant  luxuries;  and  she 
wished  it  were  possible  to  take  Hannah,  with  Ronald 
and  Martha,  home  with  her  that  night.  But  she  could 
not.  Her  father  must  first  be  told  the  truth,  and  then 
decide.  That  he  would  not  close  the  door  of  his  home 
against  his  child,  she  felt  certain;  and  that  for  her  it 

would  always  stand  open.  But  the  child To  him, 

she  was  afraid,  the  door  would  remain  forever  shut, 
and  his  mother,  she  knew,  and  was  glad  to  know,  was 
too  much  of  a  woman  to  accept  for  herself  that  which 
her  child  could  not  have.  "Poor,  innocent,  little,  blind 
baby,"  thought  she,  "how  cruel  it  was  that  he  should 
have  to  suffer  the  evil  consequences  of  the  acts  of 


Mrs.  Thompson  J'isits  Her  Daughter          175 

others,  and  that  upon  his  baby-head  and  frail  shoulders 
should  fall  the  effects  of  their  wrong-doing." 

Hannah's  advancing  footsteps  in  the  hall  put  a  stop 
to  these  gloomy  thoughts,  and  Mrs.  Thompson  greeted 
the  entrance  of  her  daughter  with  a  smile. 

"They  have  gone?"  queried  she. 

"Yes,  and  if  I  am  to  finish  my  story  before  they  get 
back,  I  must  begin  right  away,"  replied  Hannah, 
drawing  a  chair  forward  and  sitting  down  near  her 
mother. 

"Is  it  necessary,  my  child  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Thompson, 
laying  her  hand  affectionately  upon  her  daughter's 
shoulder.  "Would  it  not  be  better  to  leave  the  dis 
tressing  happenings  of  the  past  six  years  where  they 
belong — away  back  there?  Surely  they  have  no  place 
in  the  present  and  can  have  none  in  the  future,  and 
the  telling  really  cannot  benefit  either  of  us,  now, 
serving  only  to  add  to  your  embarrassment  and  pain. 
Let  us,  then,  turn  our  backs  upon  them  and  leave  them 
behind." 

"I  see  you  agree  with  Doctor  Ross.  It  is  very  good 
of  you  to  think  so  about  it,  mother,  but  what  about 
father?" 

"I  shall  have  to  tell  him  what  I  know,  of  course," 
replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  a  shadow  for  the  moment 
passing  over  her  face,  "and  what  the  outcome  may  be 
I  cannot  say.  However,  I  will  write  you  about  that 


176  The  Success  of  Failure 

tomorrow  and,  at  the  same  time,  enclose  a  check  to 
cover  your  expenses  here." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you." 

"Now  tell  me  something  of  your  work,  if  you  are 
Happy  in  it  and  of  this  Doctor  Ross  by  whom  you  are 
employed,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson,  looking  at  her  watch. 
"You  won't  have  a  great  deal  of  time  for  I  must  leave 
on  the  three-thirty  train." 

This,  to  Hannah,  was  a  particularly  agreeable  task, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  she  was  relating,  with  no 
little  degree  of  interest  expressed  in  face  and  voice, 
the  many  pleasing  features  of  her  work ;  and  speaking 
in  eloquent  praise  of  the  man  who  had  made  that 
work  possible — the  Great  Worker,  her  employer.  So 
truly  happy  did  she  appear  as  she  continued  to  talk, 
that  her  mother,  whose  heart  had  ached  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  her  and  Ronald  in  what  she  termed  "the 
depressing  loneliness  of  a  large  city,"  became  more  and 
more  reconciled  with  the  situation ;  and  when,  an  hour 
later,  she  bade  them  goodby  at  the  station,  it  was 
with  a  mind  assured  that  for  the  present,  at  least,  all 
was  well  with  her  Hannah. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  TALK  WITH  DOROTHY  AND  THE  SELECTION  OF  ROADS 

THE  loud  ringing  of  the  telephone-bell  greeted 
Hannah  when  she  opened  the  office-door  the 
morning  after  her  mother's  visit.  Stepping  quickly 
over  to  the  telephone,  she  took  down  the  receiver  and 
held  it  to  her  ear,  and  a  voice  in  response  to  her 
gentle,  "Hello/"  said : 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  Archer ;  this  is  Miss  Richard 
son.  Has  the  doctor  arrived?" 

"Oh,  good-morning,  Miss  Richardson,"  returned 
Hannah  pleasantly.  "No,  the  doctor  has  not  come  in. 
I  expect  him  any  moment,  though.  Can  I  do  anything 
for  you?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Dorothy  a  trifle  slowly 
"perhaps  you  can;  my  message  in  a  way  concerns 
you.  Last  night,  while  speaking  to  Mr.  Thompson  on 
his  way  out,  he  told  me  you  were  not  in  the  office  all 
of  yesterday  afternoon ;  and,  although  he  waited  all 
that  time  for  the  doctor  to  come  in,  he,  too,  failed  to 
put  in  an  appearance,  and  he  had  to  leave  without  see 
ing  him.  Foolishly,  I  then  began  to  worry  and  won 
dered  if  everything  was  as  it  should  be  over  there." 


178  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Hannah,  laughing  happily,  "every 
thing  is  all  right." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  responded  Dorothy  heartily. 
"But  if  it  ever  should  not  he,  remember  my  'home- 
living  place'  will  always  be  open  to  you  and  Ronald." 

"You  are  very  kind,  I  shall  remember  that,"  said 
Hannah,  and  just  at  that  moment  Doctor  Ross  pushed 
the  door  open  and  walked  into  the  room,  which  caused 
her  to  add,  "Oh,  here  is  the  doctor,  now,  wouldn't 
you  like  to  speak  to  him  ?' 

"Why,  yes,  you  might  let  me  say  good-morning  to 
him." 

"Doctor,"  said  Hannah,  turning  her  head  in  his  di 
rection  and  smiling,  "Miss  Richardson  is  on  the  tele 
phone  and  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

"Is  that  so?"  replied  the  doctor,  much  pleased,  strid 
ing  over  to  the  telephone  and  taking  the  receiver  out 
of  her  hand. 

"Good-morning,  Dorothy,"  said  he,  and  Hannah 
hurried  into  her  office  and  closed  the  door. 

"Good-morning,  Bob,"  came  Dorothy's  voice  from 
the  other  end  of  the  wire.  "How  is  everything  over 
there?  I  have  been  hearing  bad  news  of  your  office. 
Is  Mrs.  Archer  to  remain  with  you?" 

"Not  Mrs.  Archer,"  replied  the  doctor  with  a  low 
laugh,  "but  a  young  woman  by  the  name  of  Miss  Han 
nah  Thompson  is." 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  179 

"I  see,"  and  the  tone  of  her  voice  conveyed  more  to 
the  doctor  than  Dorothy  intended. 

"No  you  don't,  but  you  will  some  day,"  replied  he 
teasingly. 

"Is  that  so?"  retorted  she. 

"That  is  just  so,"  laughed  he.  "However,  don't 
despair,  for  with  time  all  things  are  accomplished." 

"Even  the  perfection  of  me?" 

"Yes,  the  perfection  of  you." 

"Bosh!" 

"No  bosh  about  it,  I  assure  you,  Dorothy.  It  is  a 
certain  and  assured  fact." 

"I  am  glad  you  feel  so  positive  about  it." 

"And  you  don't?" 

"No,  I  wish  I  did." 

"How  is  that?  Isn't  the  'home-living  place'  pro 
gressing  satisfactorily  ?" 

"Well,"  reluctantly  replied  Dorothy,  "I  am  begin 
ning  to  have  difficulties." 

"I  see,"  said  the  doctor  sympathetically,  "it  is  not 
proving  the  success  you  hoped  for.  That  is  too  bad, 
Dorothy.  Can  I  be  of  any  assistance  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  perhaps  you  can.  Supposing  you 
call  in  on  your  way  back  from  the  hospital  this  after 
noon.  There  are  quite  a  few  things  I  want  to  talk 
over  with  you." 

"I  can't  this  afternoon,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor 


180  The  Success  of  Failure 

regretfully,  "for  I  have  an  engagement  with  Thomp 
son.  But  I  can  call  in  and  see  you  tomorrow  morning, 
if  that  will  do." 

"Yes,  that  will  suit  me  very  nicely." 

"Very  well,  I'll  be  in  some  time  between  eleven  and 
twelve." 

"Thank  you,  Bob." 

"Not  at  all,  Dorothy.  It  is  always  my  delight  and 
pleasure,  as  you  know,  to  serve  you." 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,  Bob ;  and  I  won't  keep  you 
any  longer  for  I  know  just  how  busy  you  always  are. 
Goodby." 

"Goodby,  Dorothy,"  returned  the  doctor,  and  the 
smile  that  played  around  his  lips  was  infinitely  tender 
as  he  hung  up  the  receiver  on  its  hook  and  turned 
from  the  instrument. 

Before  sitting  down  at  his  desk  to  examine  his  mail, 
he  walked  to  the  door  of  Hannah's  office  and  knocked 
gently,  and  in  response  to  her  pleasant,  "Come  in," 
turned  the  knob  and  entered  the  room. 

"Well,"  said  he,  smiling  in  a  grave,  mischievous 
fashion  at  Hannah,  who  was  seated  in  front  of  her 
desk,  "I  see  you  are  still  alive.  The  ordeal  of  yester 
day  afternoon,  which  you  dreaded  so,  could  not  have 
proven  such  a  terrible  thing,  after  all." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Hannah,  her  face  alight,  "it  proved 
to  be  no  ordeal  at  all.  Do  you  know,  although  I  have 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  181 

a  child  of  my  own,  I  never  before  realized  how  won 
derfully  wonderful  is  the  love  of  a  mother  for  her 
child." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  sitting  down  in  a  chair 
opposite  Hannah,  "it  is  wonderful  for  its  rare  unsel 
fishness.  And  yet,"  musingly,  "in  its  unselfishness  it 
is  selfish.  The  love  a  mother  bears  for  her  child  is 
the  love  for  a  reproduced  self ;  in  it  she  sees  the  con 
tinuing  of  that  self.  And  her  love,  in  spite  of  its 
boasted  depth  and  breadth  and  inexhaustible  store,  is 
limited  ;  and  the  child  is  not  very  old  before  he  becomes 
sadly  aware  of  its  limitations.  To  her  only  is  given 
the  provision  of  the  physical  needs,  and  just  so  far  and 
no  farther  is  she  able  to  travel  the  journey  of  life 
with  him.  The  way  of  the  spirit,  he  must  travel  alone, 
picking  from  its  roadside  those  fruits  needed  to  satisfy 
that  hunger.  To  meet  every  awakened  desire  of  the 
soul,  means  the  pushing  onward  and  upward  until 
their  source  is  found." 

"Surely,"  exclaimed  Hannah  in  surprise,  "you  don't 
mean  me  to  conclude  that  mothers  are  not  anxious  to 
have  their  children  grow  up  to  be  good  men  and 
women  ?" 

"Their  anxiety  goes  for  naught,  if  they  know  not 
the  road  to  Good.     Many  and  many  are  the 
called  bv  that  name " 


1 82  The  Success  of  Failure 

"And  terminate,  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  say," 
interrupted  Hannah,  "in  the  broad  and  well-known 
thoroughfare  of  Bad?" 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"What  assurance,  then,"  anxiously  asked  Hannah, 
"has  a  mother  that  she  has  selected  from  these  many 
roads  the  way  to  Good,  when  there  are  so  ma*iy  con 
flicting  opinions  of  what  is  good  and  what  is  bad?" 

"By  their  fruits,  there  is  no  other  way,"  quietly  re 
plied  the  doctor.  "It  is  not  difficult,"  he  went  on,  "to 
avoid  taking  some  of  these  roads;  nor  is  it  necessary 
for  one  to  traverse  them  to  know  the  fruits  which 
grow  therein,  for  their  decadent  effects  are  voicelessly 
proclaimed  by  the  poor,  unfortunate  sojourners  within 
their  gates.  But  about  the  many  others  we  stop  and 
question —  At  the  entrance  of  each  we  look  long  and 
interrogatively  in;  and  they  appear  to  us  alike  fair. 
But,  try  as  we  may,  we  are  unable  to  see,  for  the  huge 
trees,  heavy  foliage  and  beautiful  flowers  growing  at 
their  mouths,  the  hills  and  valleys  beyond.  After  some 
serious  debating  upon  the  advisability  of  taking  either 
of  them,  we  at  last  decide  upon  a  road.  It  is,  to  our 
mind,  the  fairest  of  them  all  and,  to  our  imagination, 
promises  at  the  end  great  things.  Surely  success 
awaits  us  at  the  end  of  this  road.  And  so  we  begin 
onr  journey 

"But  alas !     One-quarter  of  the  way  has  not  been 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  183 

travelled  before  we  become  aware,  to  our  utter 
dismay,  that  all  that  was  fair  and  lovely  of  the 
chosen  road  was  the  entrance.  We  bewail  our 
stupidity  and  unsparingly  censure  ourselves  for  not 
selecting  one  of  the  others.  As  we  proceed,  how 
ever,  we  find  consolation  in  the  fact  that  we  are  not 
alone ;  for  the  road,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  is  literally 
filled  with  fellow-travellers ;  and  they  like  us,  are 
fighting  with  each  other  for  a  place  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  The  strong  toss  the  weak  thoughtlessly 
aside  and,  indifferent  to  their  fate,  march  straight  on. 
This  condition  of  affairs  we  view  with  grave  concern 
and,  consequently,  strive  the  harder  to  retain  our 
place  in  the  road.  We  also  see  the  weak,  as  we  con 
tinue  our  journey,  trying  to  edge  their  way  through  the 
throng  and,  with  hands  raised  hesitatingly  toward  the 
branches  of  the  trees  in  their  quest  for  nourishment, 
seek  to  pluck  the  fruit  therefrom.  Their  efforts  are 
futile,  for  they  are  either  rudely  jostled,  roughly  pushed 
back  or,  unthinkingly,  thrown  down.  Nevertheless, 
they  are  surprisingly  courageous  and  again  and  again 
get  to  their  feet  and,  despite  their  waning  strength,  try 
to  regain  a  foothold  in  the  road  of  life.  All  to  no 
purpose,  and  one  by  one  they  stagger  over  to  the 
wayside  and,  bending,  find  their  sustenance  in  the 
blemished  fruit  lying  upon  the  ground.  This  is  a 
situation,  indeed,  that  fills  us  with  alarm,  and  we  begin 


184  The  Success  of  Failure 

to  dread  the  ending  of  the  road.  To  prevent  such  a 
like  condition  befalling  us,  we  cram,  as  we  go  along, 
every  available  place  in  our  clothing  with  fruit  picked 
from  the  branches. 

"But,  after  all,  to  what  little  use!  We  have  not 
journeyed  very  far  from  this  point,  before  the  foolish 
ness  of  our  wisdom  is  made  plain  to  us.  The  fruit 
we  deemed  so  wise  to  gather  for  the  satisfying  of  a 
later  day,  we  find,  upon  examination  as  that  day  ap 
proaches,  has  all  decayed  and  is  fit  only  to  be  thrown 
out.  To  what  profit  have  we  lived?'  bitterly  ask  we, 
as  it  drops  from  our  trembling  hands.  Woefully  dis 
couraged,  our  gaze  becomes  fearful  as  we  regard  the 
road  ahead.  'What  will  be  the  ending?'  we  wearily 
question  as  we  look  for  a  place  to  rest;  but  the  seats, 
dotted  here  and  there  along  the  roadside,  already  are 
occupied  with  weary  travellers.  There  is  nothing  for 
us  to  do  but  to  continue  on;  and  so  we  proceed — but 
more  slowly  now — sadly  confident  that  we  shall  find 
at  the  end  of  the  road,  not  the  success  which  we  be 
lieved  would  await  us,  but  the  doleful,  grim  form  of 
failure." 

Hannah  sighed  when  the  doctor  had  finished  speak 
ing,  and  said : 

"That  is  a  sad  road  you  have  pictured,  doctor." 

"Many  do  not  regard  it  as  such.  Those  who  can 
keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road  believe  it  to  be  all  right." 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  185 

"But  what  about  the  others?" 

"Ah !  for  them  it  is  all  wrong." 

"Well,"  said  Hannah,  with  a  mournful  shake  of  her 
head,  "it  is  one  upon  which  I  hope  my  Roland's  feet 
shall  never  tread/' 

"Give  him  to  me,"  said  Doctor  Ross  earnestly,  "and 
he  shall  know  no  other  road  than  the  one  that  leads  to 
Good." 

"Give  him  to  you !"  exclaimed  Hannah  incredulous 
ly.  "You  don't  know  what  you  ask." 

"Do  you  think  he  will  belong  any  the  less  to  you?" 
asked  the  doctor,  a  beautiful  smile  lighting  up  his 
grave  face. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean !  Why,  I  wouldn't 
give  him  to  anybody!"  exclaimed  Hannah,  greatly 
excited. 

"I  don't  mean  to  take  him  from  you,"  said  he  gently. 
"And  I  can  assure  you  he  will  be  doubly  yours  if  you 
give  him  to  me." 

"Oh,  now  I  understand,  you  mean  some  sort  of 
guardianship,"  said  Hannah,  her  face  brightening. 
"That  would  be  splendid  for  him,  and  I  cannot  thank 
you  sufficiently  for  contemplating  such  a  thing.  In 
deed,"  her  face  aglow,  "there  is  no  one  whom  I  should 
so  wish  to  direct  the  life  of  my  boy  than  yourself, 
Doctor  Ross." 


186  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Then  it  is  agreed,"  said  he,  smiling  and  extending 
his  hand.  "Thank  you." 

"It  is,"  replied  Hannah,  laying  her  hand  in  his.  "But 
what  about  the  fruits  of  the  many  other  roads?" 

"It  would  take  too  long  to  speak  of  them  all,"  said 
the  doctor,  gently  releasing  her  hand.  "There  is  one 
other,  however,  whose  entrance  humanity  considers 
most  inviting.  Trees,  laden  with  luscious-appearing 
fruit,  line  the  roadside  for  some  distance  in,  and  flowers 
of  every  hue  entwine  themselves  among  their  branches. 
This  roadway  has  many  twists  and  turns  and  is  open 
only  to  the  few,  which  is  regarded  as  a  lamentable  fact 
by  the  multitude  standing  at  the  entrance,  gazing  long 
ingly  in.  Within  this  road,  they  believe,  lies  power. 
Here  it  is  possible  for  man  to  command  and  be  obeyed ; 
be  a  master  and  not  a  slave.  'Ah !'  say  they,  'if  one 
could  only  be  a  traveller  upon  this  road,  with  what 
pleasure  life  might  be  lived.  Such  a  tiling  as  poverty, 
with  its  attributes  of  hunger  and  nakedness,  does  not 
exist  here.  Happiness,  that  fleeting  thing,  if  to  be 
found  anywhere,  must  surely  be  found  here.  Why 
then/  impatiently  they  ask,  'should  they  be  barred,  by 
the  simple  circumstance  of  birth  or  something  else 
quite  as  unfortunate,  from  this  altogether  lovely  and 
wholly  desirable  roadway?  Why  are  they  bound  by 
their  necessities  while  the  travellers  of  this  road  are 
lavish  with  luxuries  ?'  And  so  they  go  on,  questioning 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  187 

unwisely  and  unprofitably,  yearning  for  the  lesser 
when  they  might  have  the  greater.  Why  long  to  be  a 
master  when  one  might  be  a  brother?  Why  pine  for 
the  dignity  of  being  served,  when  the  greater  dignity 
is  in  the  serving?  Why  wish  for  the  possession  of 
material  riches,  when  the  evident  needs  of  another 
make  us  poor,  indeed?  Surely,  of  all  things  most 
foolish,  is  to  seek  to  flee  a  poverty  which  is  rich  for  a 
wealth  that  is  poor.  To  seek  to  pick  from  the  branches 
of  the  trees  the  seemingly  luscious  fruit,  which  at 
heart  is  dead,  is  to  exchange  happiness  for  misery ; 
and  to  gather  the  beautifully  colored  flowers,  from 
which  exude  poisonous  vapors,  is  to  pass  from  hope 
to  despair.  Not  to  permit  oneself  a  free  and  whole 
some  intercourse  with  the  human  family,  participating 
neither  in  its  joys  nor  in  its  sorrows,  is  to  make  of 
oneself  an  outcast.  Better,  by  far,  take  one  of  the 
many  roads  of  the  multitude  than  the  select  road  of 
the  few." 

"And  that  is  a  road  I  would  not  select  for  my 
Ronald,"  said  Hannah,  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears. 
"Now  tell  me  something  about  the  road  that  leads  to 
Good." 

"It  will  not  be  very  much,  that  is  certain,"  said  the 
doctor,  throwing  back  his  head,  "for  who  could  tell 
with  any  degree  of  accuracy  the  wonders  of  that 
beautiful  road!" 


1 88  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Tell  me,  anyway,"  pleaded  Hannah. 

"I  will,"  acquiesced  the  doctor,  and  he  began : 

'The  entrance  to  the  road  to  Good,  which  is  never 
closed  but  always  remains  open,  is  not  particularly  at 
tractive  excepting  to  the  wise,"  said  he.  "At  either 
side  stand  large  and  storm-defying  trees,  and  upon 
their  branches  grow  the  fruit  of  no-compromise.  Be 
tween  the  trees,  holding  up  their  heads  in  all  their 
snowy  loveliness,  are  the  pure-white  lilies  of  a  new 
life.  It  is  not  by  any  means  a  wide  thoroughfare ;  in 
fact,  it  is  rather  a  narrow  road.  To  its  gate  many 
come  and  look  thoughtfully  and  questioningly  in.  Some 
regard  the  fruit  growing  upon  the  trees  with  a  doubt 
ful  eye,  thinking  its  verdant  green  betokens  an  un 
desirable  freshness,  and  hesitate  to  avail  themselves  of 
the  privilege  of  tasting  and  trying.  The  flowers  within 
the  gateway  lack  color,  and  appear  not  nearly  so  lovely 
to  them  as  those  they  have  seen  growing  in  other  road 
ways.  So,  shaking  their  heads  doubtfully,  they  pass 
on.  Others,  more  venturesome,  decide  they  will  taste 
the  fruit,  so  standing  without  they  stretch  forth  an 
arm  and  pick  some  off.  They  bite  into  it,  and  con 
clude  the  flavor  is  not  altogether  unpleasing,  and  they 
are  inclined  to  enter ;  but  a  glance  at  the  flowers  brings 
a  change  of  mind,  for  they  have  no  desire  to  change 
the  old  life  for  the  new.  So  they,  too,  pass  on. 

"Then  one,  wiser  than  the  rest,  stops  and  looks  in. 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  189 

In  his  face  one  can  read  a  purpose,  and  the  cry  of 
genuine  satisfaction  that  escapes  from  his  lips  as  he 
perceives  the  stalwart  trees,  with  their  fruit-laden 
branches,  and  the  pure,  white  lilies  growing  between, 
states  emphatically  that  his  purpose  is  to  enter  here. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  this  is  the  road  for  which  he 
has  been  seeking;  the  desired  destination  has  been 
reached.  With  haste  he  discards  his  travel-stained 
and  much-worn  garments,  and  with  real  affection 
greets  the  trees  and  kisses  with  gentle  reverence  the 
lilies  at  the  gate,  who,  at  his  touch,  move  with  a 
graceful,  sweeping  motion  to  one  side  and  permit  him 
to  enter.  They  then  resume  their  former  position  and 
he,  arrayed  in  new  raiment,  surveys  the  road.  He 
notes — perhaps  wonderingly — that  here  the  travellers 
do  not  strive  for  a  good  piece  of  the  roadway ;  each 
has  his  allotted  space  in  which  to  walk  and  wishes  no 
more,  their  time,  evidently,  being  fully  occupied  with 
the  keeping  of  that  in  order.  Greatly  interested,  he 
watches  them  as  with  stately  tread  and  even  step  they 
move  along,  clearing  as  they  go  the  way  before  them, 
for  no  destroying  object  is  permitted  to  grow  here. 

"With  confidence  he  takes  his  place  in  the  road  and 
begins  the  journey.  He  marvels,  as  he  proceeds,  at 
the  continued  fresh  greenness  of  the  fruit  growing  up 
on  the  branches  of  the  trees ;  and  it  is  not  long  before 
he  discovers  that  its  all-sustaining  qualities  are  born 


190  The  Success  of  Failure 

of  the  seed  of  Truth  and  that  all  alike  may  partake 
of  it.  With  the  head-gardeners,  Love  and  Execution, 
he  is  fast  becoming  acquainted,  imbibing  the  knowl 
edge  they  impart  with  great  avidity ;  for  to  this  knowl 
edge,  he  learns,  can  be  imputed  the  good  understand 
ing  existing  among  his  fellow-travellers,  producing 
their  mutual  respect  for  each  other.  Here,  he  realizes, 
if  anywhere,  the  human  family  becomes  the  divine 
family,  the  old  is  exchanged  for  the  new  and  the  bad 
for  the  good. 

"As  he  is  nearing  the  end,  he  turns  and  looks  back 
and,  standing  in  the  golden-hued  autumn  of  life,  con 
cludes  that  the  road  to  Good  was  a  beautiful  one ;  the 
knowledge  it  imparted  spoke  of  the  infinite,  that  man 
kind,  as  the  Godhead,  is  one,  and  the  understanding 
of  that  oneness  makes  the  fruit  of  the  road  to  Good 
immortal." 

"And  my  little  Ronald  is  to  be  a  traveller  upon  that 
road !"  exclaimed  Hannah,  her  hands  tightly  clasped 
in  her  lap  and  her  face  reflecting,  in  a  great  measure, 
the  wonderful  light  which  illumined  the  doctor's  face 
as  he  finished  speaking.  "I  am  so  glad,  so  glad !  No 
other  road  would  I  willingly  have  chosen  for  him." 

The  doctor  smiled  quizzically  down  into  her  eyes 
which  still  remained  fascinatingly  fixed  upon  his  face. 


A  Talk  with  Dorothy  191 

"You  are  a  wise  mother,"  he  said.  "And  we  will 
speak  of  this  again.  But  now  I  must  attend  to  my 
mail." 

"Can  I  help  you?" 

"Yes/'  replied  he,  rising  to  his  feet  and  turning  to 
leave  the  room.  "I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  do  so," 
and,  walking  quickly  over  to  his  desk,  he  pulled  out  the 
chair  which  stood  in  front  of  it  and  sat  down. 

Hannah  immediately  rose  from  her  seat  and  followed 
him. 

"While  I  am  reading  this  one,"  said  he,  tearing  open 
an  envelope  and  removing  its  contents,  "you  may  open 
the  rest  of  these,  and  with  a  gentle  movement  of  his 
disengaged  hand  the  doctor  pushed  a  neat  pile  of 
letters  to  one  side  of  his  desk. 

"Very  well,"  and  Hannah  drew  a  chair  to  that  side 
of  the  desk  and  sat  down. 

In  less  than  half-an-hour  the  letters  were  opened  and 
read  and  marked  for  reply,  and  Hannah  was  walking 
back  to  her  office  carrying  them  in  her  hand. 

As  she  disappeared  through  the  door-way,  the 
doctor  arose  from  his  chair  and  walked  to  the  window. 
A  glance  informed  him  that  his  automobile,  with  John's 
motionless  figure  in  the  front  seat,  stood  at  the  curb. 
He  tapped  lightly  upon  the  window-pane,  and  un- 


tg2  The  Success  of  Failure 

hesitatingly  John's  head  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  A  nod  and  smile  of  recognition  accompanied 
with  a  look  which  fell  not  short  of  being  brotherly 
passed  between  the  two  men.  Doctor  Ross  then  left 
the  window  and  began  to  prepare  for  his  round  of 
morning  calls,  and  his  servant  turned  his  head  away 
and  looked  straight  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FRANK  ENTERS  THE  HOSPITAL  OF  THE  NEW  BIRTH 

THE  office-door  opened,  and    Doctor  Ross  raised  his 
eyes  enquiringly. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Frank,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  as  he 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  stepping  in  and  closing  the  door 
behind  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  old  fellow,"  said  the  doctor,  ex 
tending  his  hand  as  he  crossed  the  room  to  meet  him. 
"How  are  you  ?"  and  he  shook  the  hand  Frank  placed 
in  his  warmly.  "Take  a  seat,  and  just  as  soon  as  I 
have  finished  reading  this,"  holding  up  the  paper  in 
his  left  hand,  "I'll  be  right  with  you." 

Frank  smiled  and  nodded  in  response,  but  instead 
of  sitting  down  he  walked  over  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

The  doctor  went  back  to  his  seat  and  resumed  the 
reading  of  the  paper.  It  was  soon  read  and,  after 
placing  it  in  the^mside  pocket  of  his  coat,  he  got  up 
and  walked  over  to  the  window  where  Frank  stood 
and  laid  a  hand  upon  each  of  his  shoulders. 

193 


194  The  Success  of  Failure 

At  their  touch,  Frank  immediately  turned  around. 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  he,  with  a  wan  smile,  "I've  come 
over  to  give  up  my  job." 

"What  for?"  calmly  asked  the  doctor.  "Sit  down 
and  let  us  talk  it  over." 

"There  isn't  any  use,  as  far  as  I  can  see,"  said 
Frank,  wearily  sinking  down  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"Perhaps  you  can't  see  very  well,"  said  the  doctor, 
seating  himself  on  a  chair  opposite. 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  mournful  shake 
of  his  head.  "But,  for  that  matter,  I  have  learned  I 
am  not  the  only  one  so  afflicted." 

"What  made  you  conclude  to  give  up  your  work? 
Not  the  inability  to  secure  patients,  surely?*' 

"No,  I  can't  say  it  was  that  exactly,"  said  Frank 
hesitatingly.  "The  truth  is,"  he  blurted  out,  "I  am 
too  sick,  myself,  to  seek  any  further,"  and  his  head 
sank  into  his  hands. 

"My  poor  Frank,"  said  the  doctor,  and  the  notes  of 
the  paternal  and  maternal  blended  in  his  voice. 

From  Frank's  lips  came  a  dismal  moan. 

"If  I  were  the  only  one  so  affected,  I  believe  I  could 
stand  it,"  said  he,  raising  his  head ;  "but  my  quest  for 
patients  has  opened  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  whole 
world  is  infected  with  this  same  terrible  sickness,  and 
the  worst  of  it  all  is  it  seems  to  be  oblivious  of  the 
fact." 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  195 

"Yot»r  work,  then,  has  not  been  without  its  compen 
sation;  you  have  learned  something." 

"I  can't  say,  though,  that  I  altogether  value  the 
knowledge,"  replied  Frank,,  with  a  sickly  smile. 

"No?    Why?" 

"Because  the  compensation  derived  from  a  painful 
knowledge  is  never  pleasant." 

"Not  if  it  be  true?" 

"I  can't  see  that  the  falsity  or  truth  of  a  condition 
makes  the  result  any  the  less  terrible." 

"The  trouble  with  you,  Frank,"  said  the  doctor, 
smiling  gravely,  "is  that  the  truth  terrifies  you.  Never 
before  have  you  beheld  her  in  all  of  her  nakedness,  and 
her  no-compromising  presence  fills  you  with  alarm. 
In  your  pursuit  of  patients,  she  has  permitted  you  to 
look  through  her  clear  lenses,  and  you  are  appalled  to 
find  the  same  sickness  within  yourself  that  you  ex 
pected  to  find  in  others.  Also,  you  know  conditions  to 
be  what  they  are  and  not  what  they  seem,  and  they 
frighten  you.  And  that  is  not  surprising.  However, 
there  is  a  fear  that  is  productive  of  health  and  a  com 
placency  that  breeds  disease.  Now  tell  me  just  how 
you  feel." 

"How  I  feel,"  said  Frank  languidly;  "words  would 
fail  to  tell  you  how  I  feel.  I  am  sick,"  shaking  his  head 
forlornly.  "I  am  woefully  and  awfully  sick,  that  is 
all  I  can  tell  you." 


196  The  Success  of  Failure 

"But  how  does  the  sickness  affect  you?"  persisted 
the  doctor.  "Surely,  you  can  describe  some  of  the 
symptoms." 

"It  affects  me  all  over,"  replied  Frank  weakly.  "I 
am  like  an  old  machine  with  all  of  its  parts  astray, 
and  being  so  badly  scattered  about  among  the  rubbish 
they  are  not  to  be  found,  even  though  I  had  the  in 
clination  to  look  for  them,  which  I  have  not." 

"By  that,  you  mean  to  say,  I  suppose,  you  have  lost 
all  interest  in  life?" 

"I  fail  to  see  anything  in  it  for  me." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"You  are,"  replied  Frank,  momentarily  interested 
and  then  leaning  wearily  back  in  his  chair.  "Isn't  that 
a  rather  strange  statement  for  a  physician  to  make?" 

"Is  it?"  returned  the  doctor,  with  a  low  musical 
laugh.  "Then,  perhaps,  it  would  be  well  for  me  to 
explain  the  meaning  of  it." 

"Very  well,"  indifferently  replied  Frank. 

"To  meet  the  needs  of  the  human  body  with  which 
man  is  endowed,"  said  the  doctor,  "that  body  is  pro 
vided  with  a  human  appetite,  the  individual  satisfying 
of  which  means  the  continuation  of  the  representation 
of  existing  humanity ;  that  is,  each  member  as  it  enters 
the  human  family  and  continues  therein  is  required  to 
eat  the  nourishment  needed  for  the  sustenance  of  his 
or  her  individual  human-body,  no  other  member  being 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  197 

able  to  perform  that  office.  To  illustrate, — No  mother, 
no  matter  how  great  may  be  the  love  she  bears  for  her 
child,  can  eat  or  drink  for  him  the  substance  required 
for  the  growth  of  his  human-body.  If  he  is  to  grow, 
he  must  swallow  the  food  that  is  put  into  his  mouth. 
Nor  can  she  take  for  him  the  exercise  needed  for  his 
physical  development.  He  must  stretch  out  the  baby- 
arms,  squirm,  kick  and  creep  to  strengthen  the  tiny 
baby-body,  if,  later  on,  he  is  to  become  a  walking, 
perpendicular  human-self.  So  it  is  with  the  unfolding 
of  that  infantile  mentality ;  he  must  do  his  own  think 
ing.  The  controlling  force  of  that  body  is  ever  in 
dividualistic  and  gives  its  rights  to  no  other. 

"As  it  is  with  the  human-dress  of  the  child,"  he  con 
tinued,  "so  it  is  with  the  child  expressed  in  the  dress. 
He,  too,  is  endowed  with  an  appetite,  and  his  represen 
tation  depends  upon  the  nourishment  he  receives.  To 
grow,  he  must  eat,  and  to  eat  he  must  be  fed ;  to  ex 
pand,  he  must  exercise,  and  time  and  willingness  must 
be  given  to  that  exercise.  The  unfolding  of  that  won 
derful  understanding,  means  a  life  lived  with  its  great 
er  understanding,  if  the  life  is  to  be  active  and  fulfill 
its  purpose.  To  neglect  these  things,  deeming  them 
of  non-importance,  is  to  cause  his  impoverishment, 
causing  a  blindness,  which,  in  turn,  produces  an  in 
difference  to  growth  and  an  unwillingness  to  know  or 
understand." 


198  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Well,"  said  Frank,  making  a  feeble  attempt  to  ap 
pear  interested,  "what  has  all  this  got  to  do  witk  me  ?" 

"Everything,  for  it  is  the  cause  of  your  sickness." 

"The  cause  of  my  sickness?"  queried  Frank,  be 
wildered.  "Explain  further,  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"No ;  and  it  is  going  to  be  difficult  to  make  you  un 
derstand,"  replied  the  doctor,  sadly.  "You  are  suffer 
ing  from  soul  paralysis,  caused  by  the  continued  in 
action  of  the  life-controlling  force." 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  talking  about,  doctor?" 
asked  Frank,  becoming  irritated.  "No  man  living 
ever  lived  any  cleaner  life  than  I  have.  What  do  you 
mean  to  insinuate  ?" 

"I  am  not  finding  fault  with  the  way  in  which  you 
take  care  of  'your  coat  of  skin/*  Frank,"  said  the 
doctor,  soothingly,  "for  you  have  taken  excellent  care 
of  it;  the  trouble  is,  it  has  outgrown  you.  It  has  be 
come  your  master  and  you  its  slave.  At  its  'come/ 
you  follow ;  at  its  command  of  'no  further/  you  stand 
still.  So  varied  and  multitudinous  have  been  its  de 
mands  that  all  of  your  time  has  been  taken  up  in  en 
deavoring  to  meet  them ;  so  busy  have  you  been  you 
have  hardly  been  aware  that  you  had  an  appetite;  so 
intently  have  you  listened  to  its  voice  you  have  nearly 
lost  the  use  of  your  own.  In  striving  to  find  a  suitable 
place  for  its  well-being  and  growth,  you  have  disre 
garded  those  higher  things  necessary  for  your  own 


*Gen.  iii,  21. 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  199 

growth  and  well-being.  The  result  is,  you  are  sick 
and  need  treatment/' 

"Well,  what  do  you  prescribe?"  asked  Frank. 

"That  you  enter  the  Hospital  of  The  New  Birth  for 
treatment. 

"You  think,  then,  there  is  hope  ?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"When  do  you  advise  me  to  apply  for  admittance?" 

"Now,  this  afternoon.  You  may  come  with  me  and 
I  will  see  you  are  admitted." 

"What  time  are  you  going  over?" 

"I  am  due  there  at  two  o'clock,  but  as  there  is 
nothing  here  to  keep  me,  John  might  as  well  take  us 
right  over,"  and  the  doctor  rose  and  put  on  his  hat  and 
coat. 

"What  do  they  charge  a  day  in  the  ward?"  asked 
Frank  as  they  were  going  out. 

"Don't  let  that  concern  you,"  said  the  doctor,  put 
ting  his  arm  in  a  friendly  way  through  Frank's  arm  as 
they  went  down  the  steps.  "I  am  responsible  for  any 
expense  you  may  incur  there.  You  are  still  in  my 
employ,  you  know." 

"It's  very  good  of  you  doctor,"  murmured  Frank, 
preceding  the  doctor  into  the  automobile. 

The  doctor's  response  was  a  heavy  sigh  as  he  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  the  sigh,  doctor?"  asked 


2OO  The  Success  of  Failure 

Frank  as  the  automobile  began  to  make  its  way  down 
the  street. 

The  doctor  smiled. 

"In  your  present  condition,  you  wouldn't  understand 
if  I  should  tell  you,"  he  said. 

"I  might  try.'" 

"Well,  then,  it  is  your  inability  to  recognize  me." 

"Oh,  is  that  all,"  replied  Frank,  laying  his  hand 
affectionately  upon  the  doctor's  shoulder.  "Don't  bi 
that  worry  you ;  for,  I  can  tell  you,  I  consider  you  the 
best  fellow  I  ever  knew." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  doctor  gravely. 

"What  kind  of  a  hospital  is  the  Hospital  of  The  New 
Birth  ?"  asked  Frank.  "Is  it  a  private  or  a  public  in 
stitution  ?" 

"It  is  both;  yet  not  in  the  sense  that  you  understand 
the  words  to  imply,"  replied  the  doctor  smiling.  "That 
is,  there  are  no  private  rooms  to  be  obtained  for  any 
consideration.  All  the  rooms  are  alike  and  are  used 
as  needed  and,  therefore,  wards  are  not  necessary.  In 
this  hospital,  no  undergraduate  nurses  are  employed ; 
they  must  all  be  graduates  and  are  required  to  accord 
to  all  patients  the  same  attention.  The  treatment  is 
private,  no  one  but  the  Great  Physician  and  the  patient 
being  present.  Admission,  too,  must  be  sought  private 
ly,  the  requirements  being  the  desire  and  willingness 
of  the  patient  to  be  made  anew." 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  201 

"That  sounds  good,"  replied  Frank,  thoughtfully. 
''It  would  just  be  my  luck,  though,  to  get  over  there 
and  then  be  told  that  for  every  room  there  was  an 
occupant  and,  therefore,  there  was  no  room  for  me/' 

"Have  no  fear  of  that,  Frank,"  assured  the  doctor. 
"There  is  never  any  lack  of  room  in  that  hospital.  Its 
doors  are  always  open,  and  a  welcome  awaits  all  they 
who  seek  to  enter." 

"There's  no  overcrowding,  then,"  said  Frank,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief;  "that's  a  blessing.  What  school  is  re 
sponsible  for  its  founding  and  continuance?" 

"The  School  of  the  New  Born.  You  will  be  eligible 
for  membership  after  you  have  taken  the  course  of 
treatment  prescribed  by  the  Doctor  at  the  Hospital." 

"What  is  the  treatment  ?"  asked  Frank,  betraying  a 
slight  uneasiness. 

"If  you  would  appreciate  the  result,"  replied  the 
doctor,  smiling  enigmatically,  "you  must  experience 
the  treatment." 

"To  be  well,  it  seems  to  me,"  exclaimed  Frank,  "I 
would  submit  to  any  treatment." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  returned  the  doctor.  "Here 
we  are,"  and  the  automobile  turned  into  a  road  that 
led  up  to  a  large,  pure-white  stone  building.  When  it 
reached  the  foot  of  the  steps  leading  to  the  entrance  it 
stopped,  and  the  doctor  alighted. 

"This  is  the  place,"  said  he,  "come  on,  Frank." 


2O2  The  Success  of  Failure 

"All  right/'  slowly  replied  Frank,  his  mind  not  en 
tirely  free  from  doubt  as  he  rose  a  trifle  reluctantly 
from  his  seat  and  followed  the  doctor  up  the  short 
flight  of  steps.  When  they  reached  the  top  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  Frank  paused  and  turned  and  for 
the  moment  hesitated.  As  he  did  so,  he  was  surprised 
to  see  the  form  of  a  man,  decrepit  and  old,  whose  face 
strangely  resembled  his  own,  standing  beside  him. 
Pitifully  pleading  were  the  eyes  in  the  aged  face  up 
raised  to  his  in  their  voiceless  entreaty  that  he  should 
go  no  further;  eager  were  the  shaking,  outstretched 
arms  in  their  wordless  beseeching  that  he  should  not 
utterly  and  entirely  forsake  and  abandon  their  owner. 
Frank's  heart  sank  within  him  as  he  stood  there  sadly 
contemplating  the  feeble,  trembling  figure,  and  he 
questioned  seriously  whether  he  should,  or  should  not, 
leave  this  old  man  to  the  loneliness  and  infirmities  of 
old  age.  But  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  doctor's  hand 
upon  his  arm  decided  the  question  for  him,  and  he 
knew  that  he  must ;  there  was  no  other  way.  So,  with 
a  last  long  look  into  the  dim  eyes  of  the  grief-rent, 
wrinkled  face  and  with  a  gesture  of  utter  helplessness, 
Frank  bade  it  a  mute  farewell  and  passed  with  the 
doctor  through  the  open-door,  perceiving  not,  as  he 
went,  that  the  aged  face  and  form  of  the  self  he  left 
behind  was  being  gently  consumed  by  the  golden  light 
that  shone  from  the  portals  within. 


Frank  Enters  the  Hospital  203 

Farther  we  cannot  go.  Would  we,  if  we  could? 
Would  we  know  the  meaning  of  absolute  newness,  the 
abandoning  of  the  oldness  of  .the  old  for  the  newness 
of  the  new,  the  putting  of  new  wine  in  new  bottles; 
the  replacing  of  old  institutions  with  the  new ;  not 
the  intermingling  of  old  with  new,  not  the  putting  of 
new  wine  in  old  bottles,  "nor  the  mending  of  old  gar 
ments  with  the  new"?  If  we  would,  then  with  a  little 
thinking  we  may.  To  have  a  new  order,  a  new  society, 
we  must  have  a  new  creature,  and  not  one  but  all  must 
experience  the  treatment  of  the  Hospital  of  The  Xew 
Birth. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DOCTOR  ROSS   KEEPS  HIS  APPOINTMENT  WITH  DOROTHY 

"|  THINK  that's  Doctor  Ross,  Bertha,"  said  Dorothy 
1  as  the  bell  rang.  "If  it  is,  tell  him  to  step  into 
my  room  and  I'll  be  in  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Bertha,  and  she  stepped 
out  to  open  the  door. 

"Good-morning,  Bertha,"  said  Doctor  Ross,  for,  as 
Dorothy  had  predicted,  it  was  he.  "Is  Miss  Richard 
son  in?" 

"Yis,  sah/'  replied  Bertha,  with  a  broad  smile.  "She's 
'spectin'  yo',  sah,  an'  told  me  to  ax  yo'  to  step  into 
her  room  an'  she  would  be  right  in." 

"Thank  you,"  and  his  tall  form,  with  its  stooped 
shoulders,  passed  on  up  the  hall. 

"It's  the  doctor,  ma'am,"  announced  Bertha  when 
she  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Dorothy,  not  troubling  to  turn 
her  head  and  keeping  right  on  with  what  she  was  do 
ing,  counting  and  sorting  soiled  clothes  for  the  laundry. 
"Now,"  as  she  placed  the  last  piece  in  the  hamper  with 

204 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment         205 

the  list  on  top,  "this-  is  all  ready  for  anyone  that 
comes." 

"I'll  attend  to  it,  ma'am,"  said  Bertha,  and  Dorothy, 
with  a  "thank  you,"  walked  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  come  over  so  early, 
Bob,"  were  the  words  with  which  she  greeted  Doctor 
Ross  as  she  sat  down  beside  him  upon  the  couch. 
"And  I  am  very  glad  for  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

"About  your  difficulties?"  queried  he,  smiling. 

"Yes;  and  to  add  to  them  I  find  that  Mr.  Thomp 
son's  bed  was  not  slept  in  last  night.  The  last  time  I 
saw  him  was  a  little  before  noon  yesterday,  and  then 
he  looked  far  from  well.  I  am  afraid  something  ter 
rible  has  happened  to  him." 

"Something  has  happened  to  him."  said  the  doctor 
quietly,  "he  is  sick  and  in  the  hospital.  But  there  is 
no  cause  for  alarm,"  added  he  assuringly,  "for  he  will 
soon  be  well." 

"Why  did  he  go  to  a  hospital?"  asked  Dorothy, 
much  concerned.  "I  am  sure  he  would  have  been  just 
as  well-off  here.  I  hate  to  think  of  any  inmate  of  the 
'home-living  place'  being  in  a  hospital." 

"And  yet  it  was  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do." 

"What  makes  you  so  sure  of  that.  Bob?" 

"Because  he  needed  a  treatment  entirely  different 
from  any  you  could  give  him,  Dorothy,"  replied  the 


206  The  Success  of  Failure 

doctor,  laying  his  hand  gently  over  one  of  hers  lying 
in  her  lap. 

"I  would  have  done  my  best,"  said  Dorothy,  per 
mitting  her  hand  to  rest  quietly  under  his.  "Surely, 
you  cannot  ask  any  more." 

"No;  nor  do  I  ask  that  of  you,  Dorothy.  Thomp 
son's  sickness  is  one  which  your  best  could  never 
cure." 

"But  yours  and  mine  might,"  suggested  Dorothy 
gravely. 

"United,  yes;  but  separate  and  apart,  never." 

Dorothy  sighed  and  leaned  back  wearily  against  the 
back  of  the  couch. 

"Do  you  know,  Bob,"  said  she,  "sometimes  I  wish 
we  were  united." 

"And  at  other  times  you  are  glad  we  are  not,  I 
suppose." 

"Yes;  when  I  am  confronted  with  conditions  into 
which  you  would  not  fit  at  all,  I  am  glad.  Conditions, 
regrettable  perhaps,  and  yet,  nevertheless,  impossible 
to  do  without." 

"Poor  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor  sighing,  "don't 
you  know  that  any  condition  which  is  deemed  regret 
table  should  be  done  without  ?" 

"And  if  it  is,  another  as  bad  will  spring  up." 

"Then  that,  too,  should  be  done  without." 

Dorothy  did  not  reply  and  the  doctor  continued: 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment         207 

"All  that  'offends  or  makes  weak'  should  be  up 
rooted  and  cast  out.  The  attitude  that  tolerates  one 
evil  for  fear  a  worse  may  come  is  a  dangerous  one,  for 
in  its  pitiful  ignorance  it  fosters  the  parent  of  many 
succeeding  evils." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  replied  Dorothy  impatiently. 
"But  who  is  able  to  do  this?  I  am  not." 

"I  am." 

"You,  Bob !  then  why  don't  you  do  it  ?" 

"Because  my  time  has  not  come.  When  it  does,  no 
evil  can  behold  my  face  and  live." 

"How  long  must  we  wait?" 

"Until  the  human  family  awakens  to  the  realization 
of  its  great  need  of  me.  But  now  tell  me  something 
of  your  difficulties,"  said  he,  patting  her  hand  en 
couragingly. 

"It's  too  bad  to  bother  you  with  my  troubles.  Bob," 
replied  Dorothy,  raising  a  pair  of  tired  eyes  hesita 
tingly  to  his  face. 

"I  understand,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor  sympathet 
ically.  "I  know  you  would  not  do  so  if  there  were 
any  possible  way  of  overcoming  them  without  my 
assistance." 

"That's  just  it,  Bob,"  replied  Dorothy  with  a  weary 
sigh.  "But  my  difficulties  have  grown  until  they  are 
positively  alarming.  They  are  becoming  more  numer 
ous  every  day,  and  I  really  don't  know  where  they 


208  The  Success  of  Failure 

begin  and  am  afraid  to  think  where  they  may  end. 
Sometimes  I  question  the  advisability  of  going  on,  and 
then,  again,  I  am  doubtful  of  the  consequence  if  I 
should  go  back." 

"Poor  Dorothy,  but  what  do  you  think  is  your 
greatest  difficulty?" 

"I  don't  know,  Bob,  but  I  think  it  is  the  dissatis 
faction  that  stalks  with  me  at  every  step,"  replied 
Dorothy.  "No  one  is  satisfied ;  all  think  they  are  de 
serving  of  more  than  they  receive,  and  not  any  but 
long  for  more  and  more  of  this  world's  goods." 

"I  see,  their  lives  are  one  continual  wish." 

"Yes,  and  try  as  I  may,  I  am  unable  to  meet  all  of 
their  demands." 

"And  you  wonder  why,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"And  you  would  like  me  to  tell  you,  is  that  it?" 

"Yes,  if  you  can." 

"Because  you  can  only  fill  part  of  the  requirements 
of  a  condition,  is  one  of  the  reasons,  Dorothy.  Some 
one  else  is  needed  to  fill  the  other  part.  Without  this 
someone's  aid,  the  work  is  only  partly  done  and  pro 
duces  an  incomplete  Service." 

"I  must  confess,  Bob,"  said  Dorothy  sadly,  "my 
work,  in  many  respects,  is  woefully  disappointing." 

"It  is  bound  to  be  so,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor, 
rising  from  the  couch  and  l.-e-.Tinninff  to  walk  leisurely 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment         209 

up  and  down  the  room,  "when  you  prohibit  someone, 
whose  right  it  is,  to  do  his  part  of  the  work." 

"Then  to  do  away  with  all  of  this  dissatisfaction," 
queried  she,  "I  must  marry  you." 

"Yes,  Dorothy ;  it  is  the  only  way." 

Dorothy  did  not  reply  immediately  but  sat  thought 
fully  silent  for  several  minutes,  then  she  said : 

"I  wish  I  could  feel  as  sure  in  my  mind  as  you  do, 
Bob,  that  the  only  thing  needed  to  perfect  my  service  is 
this  union  with  you.  But,  candidly,  I  must  say,  I  have 
grave  doubts." 

"They  will  all  disappear  after  we  are  married,"  said 
the  doctor,  and  he  stopped  in  his  walk  and  smiled  con 
fidently  down  upon  her.  "And  the  wonder  of  it  all 
will  be  that  you  ever  had  any." 

"I  wish  I  could  believe  so,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a 
doubtful  shake  of  her  head. 

"I  know  so,"  emphatically  said  the  doctor. 

"What,  then,  will  become  of  my  'home-living 
place'?" 

"You  never  succeeded  in  establishing  such  a  place, 
Dorothy,"  replied  the  doctor,  sitting  down  beside  her. 
"You  hoped  to  do  so,  but  in  reality  all  you  have  been 
able  to  do  is  to  build  a  more  or  less  charitable  institu 
tion  and,  under  present  conditions,  it  can  never  be 
aught  else,  for,  to  establish  a  'home-living  place'  with 
out  me  is  an  impossibility." 


2io  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Why  an  impossibility  ?"  imperatively  demanded 
Dorothy. 

"Because  we  are  so  constituted  we  cannot  perform 
any  perfect  work  independently;  we  arc  absolutely 
necessary  to  each  other  and " 

"It  is  utterly  impossible  to  render  a  service  complete 
without  you,"  interrupted  Dorothy  sharply. 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  doctor  quietly.  "Why,  then, 
do  you  hesitate,  Dorothy?  Don't  you  wrant  to  render 
a  service  perfect  and  complete?" 

"Indeed  I  do,  Bob,"  she  replied,  very  earnestly. 
"But,"  throwing  out  her  hands  helplessly,  "how  can 
1?" 

"By  permitting  me  to  pull  half  of  the  load." 

"Yes,  but  I  should  have  to  abandon  my  road  for 
yours,"  complained  she. 

"You  would." 

"However,"  thoughtfully  said  she,  "I  don't  believe  I 
should  object  to  that,  if  I  were  sure  as  much  could  be 
accomplished  along  that  way." 

"Ah,  Dorothy,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "how  piti 
fully  ignorant  you  are  of  my  road!  After  you  have 
travelled  it,"  laying  his  hand  affectionately  upon  her 
shoulder,  "you'll  ne'er  forsake  it  for  another.  Results 
unheard  of  and  undreamed  of  by  you  are  achieved 
there;  life  in  all  its  richness  and  beauty  is  lived  there, 
and  is  deemed  by  all  an  enjoyable  and  an  ever  enduring 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment        211 

fact.  Humanity,  with  all  of  its  unpurchasable  rights, 
is  found  there,  and  human  waste  is  unknown.  Believe 
me.  my  dear,  if  I  did  not  know  it  to  be  in  every  way 
superior  to  the  one  you  are  travelling,  I  would  not  ask 
you  to  make  the  change." 

"How  is  it,  Bob,"  asked  Dorothy,  wrinkling  her 
forehead  into  a  puzzled  frown,  "that  you  are  so 
cognizant  of  all  the  defects  of  my  road  while  I  am  un 
able  to  appreciate  the  advantages  of  yours?" 

"It  is  because  you  have  so  persistently  looked  in  the 
one  direction.  For  that  reason  you  are  unable  to  see 
or  appreciate  any  other  and,  naturally,  conclude  there 
is  no  other." 

"And  what  will  render  the  seeing  of  the  other  pos 
sible?" 

"Our  marriage." 

"Is  there  no  other  way?" 

"There  is  no  other  way,  Dorothy." 

Then,  resignedly,  "I  suppose  I  shall  have  to 
submit." 

"But  there  is  a  condition." 

"What  is  it?" 

"You  must  grant  me  implicit  obedience." 

"Well,  that  is  something  to  consider,"  said  Dorothy, 
thoughtfully  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"This  obedience  will  not  be  grievous.  I  assure  you. 


212  The  Success  of  Failure 

Dorothy,  and  in  the  course  of  time  will  be  to  you  a 
crown  of  enduring  glory.1' 

"What  will  be  the  outcome  if  I  continue  my  present 
course?" 

"Disquietude,  unrest,  unhappiness — and  then  utter 
destruction." 

"And  that  is  my  destiny  if, I  persist  in  taking  my 
own  road?"  queried  Dorothy,  her  head  bent  and  her 
eyes  fixed  intently  upon  the  rug  at  her  feet. 

"It  is." 

"And  what  after  that  ?" 

"Out  of  the  chaos  will  come  a  greater  wisdom  than 
yours,  Dorothy — a  wisdom  born  from  the  knowledge 
gained  from  the  many  years  spent  in  the  school  of 
Service.  She  will  not  scorn  nor  question  the  taking  of 
my  road,  for  she  will  recognize  it  as  being  the  only 
way,  knowing  that  all  other  roadways  can  lead  but  to 
one  place — the  city  of  desolation  and  despair.  But, 
surely,  this  need  not  be,  for  I  love  you,  Dorothy.  The 
love  with  which  I  would  surround  you,  I  know  is  far 
beyond  your  ken  or  understanding.  It  is  great  in  its 
depth,  wonderful  in  its  power  and  unmeasurable  in  its 
contents.  All  that  is  necessary  to  make  all  things  pos 
sible  unto  you,  is  to  accept  it.  Why,  then,  do  you 
hesitate?"  * 

"I  wouldn't,  Bob,"  wailed  she,  "if  I  could  only  be- 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment         213 

lieve  it,  but  I  cannot ;  and  that,  to  me,  is  the  most  hope 
less  thing  about  it  all." 

"Your  unbelief?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  your  difficulties  taught  you  nothing,  then?" 

Dorothy  did  not  reply,  and  the  doctor  continued : 

"True  belief  is  based  upon  a  knowledge  of  facts ; 
therefore,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  believe  but  'to  taste 
and  try.' " 

"Yes,  but  this  is  a  case  of  buying  before  'tasting  and 
trying/  "  replied  Dorothy,  fretfully. 

"Which  makes  you  rather  doubt  the  advisability  of 
deserting  a  known  condition,  although  it  has  proven 
entirely  unsatisfying,  for  one  unknown,  even  though 
it  promises  to  prove,  in  every  way,  satisfying?" 

"That's  it,  Bob,  it  promises  to,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  will.  Prove  to  me  that  it  will,  and  I  will  marry 
you  without  further  delay." 

"I  cannot,  Dorothy,"  replied  the  doctor,  sadly  shak 
ing  his  head.  "The  proof  of  it  is  dependent  upon  our 
union." 

"Then,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  reluctantly,  "I  must 
consent  to  it,"  and,  rising  to  her  feet,  she  walked  with 
faltering  step  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"If  you  would  be  happy,  you  must,"  replied  the 
doctor,  standing  up.  "But,  I  can  assure  you,  you  will 


2 T4  The  Success  of  Failure 

never  regret  it,"  and  he  stepped  quickly  over  to  where 
she  stood. 

"Let  us  hope  so/'  said  she,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
wan  smile. 

"What  a  doubtful  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling 
gravely  down  upon  her.  "Never  mind,  this  life  of 
hoping  and  doubting  will  soon  be  at  an  end  for  you," 
and  he  stooped  over  and  tenderly  kissed  her  quivering 
lips. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Bob,  I've  lived  so  long  in  a  sea  of 
doubt.  But,  I  want  to  tell  you  this,  if  I  must  marry, 
I  am  rather  glad  it  is  you,  for  I  know  Margaret  will 
be  pleased." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  the  doctor,  gently  placing  his 
arms  around  her. 

"Because  you  persist  in  retaining  Hannah  Thomp 
son  in  your  employ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  can't  see  how  that  can  be  remedied.  T  con 
sider  Margaret's  attitude  in  that  particular  instance 
decidedly  unreasonable  and  unfair." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  agreed  the  doctor.  "However, 
Dorothy,  when  you  are  my  wife,  you  will  understand 
and  appreciate  very  much  better  than  you  do  now  why 
it  is  impossible  for  anything  like  fairness  to  exist 
within  her." 


Doctor  Ross  Keeps  His  Appointment         215 

''Oh,  I  don't  know,  Bob,"  said  she,  "I  can  hardly 
believe  she  is  as  bad  as  all  that." 

"No?  Well,  perhaps,  after  you  have  imparted  your 
news  to  her,  her  attitude  toward  you  may  cause  you 
to  alter  your  opinion." 

"Why,  I  don't  understand  you,  Bob!"  exclaimed 
Dorothy,  surprisedly,  "for  our  marriage  is  the  very 
thing  she  has  been  trying  so  long  to  bring  about." 

"Ah!  but  that  was  before  she  decided  to  cast  me 
out,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling  enigmatically. 

"I  see,  and  if  I  marry  you  she  will  cast  me  out  ?" 

"Yes ;  but  don't  permit  that  to  cause  you  any  anxiety, 
for  it  will  end,  unfortunately  for  her,  in  the  oblitera 
tion  of  herself." 

"Poor  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy,  sorrowfully,  "I  am 
not  willing  to  believe  that  such  an  unhappy  fate  awaits 
her." 

"But  it  does,"  said  the  doctor  decisively,  "and,  like 
wise,  to  all  they  who  cast  me  out." 

"Anyway,"  said  Dorothy,  sadly,  "I  shall  go  over 
and  bid  her  goodby  tomorrow  morning." 

"Yes,  I  should  do  that,"  advised  the  doctor.  "But 
now  I  must  be  off.  Can  you  be  ready  by  four  o'clock 
tomorrow  afternoon,  Dorothy?" 

"You  mean  to  be  married  then?" 

"Yes." 


216  The  Success  of  Failure 

"I  suppose  if  it  has  to  be,  it  might  as  well  be  then 
as  any  other  time.  Yes,  I'll  be  ready." 

"All  right,  I'll  be  here  about  fifteen  minutes  before 
four,"  said  the  doctor,  and  he  picked  up  his  coat  from 
the  back  of  a  chair  and  thrust  his  hands  into  its 
sleeves.  "It  is  useless,  now,  to  tell  you  how  happy  I 
shall  make  you,"  said  he,  as  he  took  his  hat  from  the 
table,  "but  you  will  see,"  and  bending  over  he  touched 
Dorothy's  forehead  lightly  with  his  lips. 

"It  will  not  be  because  you  do  not  try,  I  know  that," 
said  she,  as  she  turned  and  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"I  shall  not  only  try,  but  I  shall  succeed,"  said  he, 
opening  the  door  and  stepping  into  the  hall.  "Gooby, 
Dorothy." 

"Goodby,  Bob,"  said  she,  and  he  hurried  through 
the  hall  and  down  the  stairs,  and  Dorothy,  suddenly 
feeling  weak  and  old,  closed  the  door  and  went  back 
to  her  room  to  think. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DOROTHY  BIDS  DOCTOR  AND  MRS.  GORDON  FAREWELL 

THE  next  morning,  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon, 
found  Dorothy  ascending  the  brown-stone  steps 
leading  to  the  handsome  dwelling  belonging  to  Doctor 
and  Mrs.  Gordon.    In  response  to  her  ring  of  the  bell, 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  neatly  attired  maid. 

"Good-morning,  Sarah,"  said  Dorothy,  "is  Mrs. 
Gordon  in?'' 

"She  is.  ma'am,"  replied  Sarah,  her  pleasant  face 
lighting  up  with  a  smile  as  she  stepped  to  one  side 
of  the  doorway  to  permit  Dorothy  to  enter.  Then 
closing  the  door,  she  led  the  way  to  a  room  on  one 
side  of  the  hall,  where,  at  a  desk,  sat  Mrs.  Gordon 
busily  engaged  in  answering  the  morning's  mail. 

"Miss  Richardson,  ma'am,"  announced  Sarah. 

"Well,  of  all  things,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon, 
quickly  raising  her  head,  "what  brings  you  over  this 
morning?"  Then  she  called  after  the  maid,  whose 
receding  steps  could  be  heard  in  the  hall,  "Sarah,  Miss 
Richardson  will  be  here  for  luncheon." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  answered  back  Sarah. 
217 


218  The  Success  of  1<  allure 

"Sit  over  there,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  motion 
ing  with  her  hand  to  a  rocking-chair  a  short  distance 
from  where  she  sat,  "and  I'll  soon  be  through.  I'll 
just  finish  this  letter,"  tapping  with  her  finger  a  sheet 
of  paper  lying  in  front  of  her ;  "the  others  can  wait." 

"Yes,  don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  Dorothy,  sit 
ting  down.  "I  can  wait  till  you  are  through,"  and  she 
proceeded  to  remove  her  hat  and  coat,  laying  them  on 
a  chair  close  by. 

"You  don't  appear  to  be  in  as  good  spirits  as  usual, 
Dorothy/'  remarked  Mrs.  Gordon  as  she  resumed  her 
writing1. 

"Xo?"  replied  Dorothy,  leaning  back  in  her  chair 
and  gazing  meditatively  at  the  wall. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  after  a  silence  of 
three  or  four  minutes,  "this  is  finished  and  I  am 
through  for  the  present/'  and  laying  down  her  pen 
she  blotted  the  newly  written  letter.  "The  others  I'll 
attend  to  this  afternoon,"  added  she,  smiling  over  at 
Dorothy  as  she  folded  up  the  letter  and  inserted  it  in 
its  addressed  envelope  and  tossed  it  to  the  rear  of  her 
desk,  where  it  lay  quivering-  ainon«f  several  others. 

"It's  nothing  serious,  is  it.  Dorothy,  that  has  brought 
you  over?"  asked  she,  rising  from  her  chair  and  walk 
ing  leisurely  over  to  where  Dorothy  sat. 

"That  all  depends  upon  what  you  would  consider 
serious,  Margaret,"  replied  Dorothy,  lifting  her  face 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  219 

to  receive  Mrs.  Gordon's  kiss.  "Bob  does  not  think 
so,  but  you  may.  He  and  I  are  to  be  married  this  after 
noon  at  four  o'clock." 

"What!"  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Gordon  incredulous 
ly,  stepping  back  and  her  face  darkening.  "That  is 
not  possible  ?" 

"But  it  is,  Margaret,  quite  possible,"  replied  Dor 
othy,  smiling  feebly.  "Sit  down,  and  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it.  But,  first,  tell  me  why  it  is  impossible?  Is 
not  this  the  very  thing  you  have  been  urging  me  to 
do?" 

"It  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  frowning  perplexedly, 
"but  that  was  before  the  Hannah  Thompson  affair," 
and  she  stooped  down  and  removed  Dorothy's  hat 
and  coat  from  the  chair  to  the  foot  of  the  couch. 
"Since  then,  I  have  considered  such  a  union  totally 
out  of  the  question/'  and,  pulling  the  chair  forward 
a  little,  she  sat  down.  "What  induced  you  to  consent 
to  it?  Your  work,  I  understood,  prohibited  all  thought 
of  such  a  thing." 

"Until  very  recently  I  believed  so,  too,  Margaret; 
but  now  I  am  reluctantly  compelled  to  conclude  that 
perhaps  its  well-being  and  continuance  is  solely  de 
pendent  upon  it." 

"What  caused  you  to  arrive  at  such  a  conclusion  ?" 

"My  many  difficulties,"  answered  Dorothy  wearily. 
"Instead  of  diminishing,  as  I  believed  they  would,  they 


22O  The  Success  of  Failure 

have  steadily  increased.  Indeed,"  helplessly,  "they 
have  grown  to  such  proportions,  they  are,  at  the  pres 
ent  time,  beyond  my  control." 

"And  you  are  foolish  enough  to  believe  that'  this 
union  will  enable  you  to  control  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon,  surprisedly. 

"I  cannot  say  positively  it  will,  I  can  only  hope  so." 

"Something  more  substantial  than  hope  is  neces 
sary,  Dorothy,  for  the  happy  consummation  of  such 
a  marriage." 

"Perhaps  so,"  replied  Dorothy  dolefully;  "yet  it  is 
better  to  begin  with  that  than  nothing." 

"Why  begin  at  all  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"Because  there  does  not  appear  to  be  any  other 
way." 

"In  other  words,  it  is  your  last  chance." 

"You  may  put  it  that  way,  if  you  like,"  replied 
Dorothy,  smiling  weakly,  "but  that  is  just  it." 

"Even  so,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  impatiently,  "I  can't 
see  that  that  is  any  reason  for  your  marrying.  You 
are  not  the  only  one  who  has  lived  to  see  the  end  of 
their  day  without  the  aid  of  matrimony." 

"But  that's  just  it,"  said  Dorothy,  aroused  from 
her  apathy,  "I  don't  want  to  see  the  end  of  my  day. 
I  am  entering  into  matrimony  for  the  preservation 
of  it." 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  221 

"For  the  preservation  of  it,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gordon, 
puzzled.  "Do  you  expect  to  live  always?" 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  expect  to,"  replied  Dorothy 
slowly ;  "but  I  do  know  there  is  nothing  I  so  much  de 
sire  as  to  live  always." 

"And  this  contemplated  union,  you  believe,  makes 
that  possible?" 

"It  offers  the  prospect  and,  just  now,  I  ask  no 
more." 

"It  will  prove  too  great  an  assimilation,  I  am  afraid 
you  will  find,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  dubiously 
shaking  her  head,  "and  you  will  have  little  voice  in 
the  many  things  which  govern  your  life.  For  your 
own  good,  I  strongly  advise  you  to  reconsider  your 
decision." 

"I  have,  Margaret.  I  have  considered  and  recon 
sidered  until  I  am  heart-sick  and  weary,  but  I  can 
see  no  other  way.  A  voice,  which  will  not  be  stilled, 
keeps  saying  in  answer  to  my  many  questions :  'This 
is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it/  ' 

"Nonsense,"  crossly  replied  Mrs.  Gordon.  "You 
are  simply  weak,  that  is  all,  and  cannot  withstand  the 
greater  influence." 

"Don't  be  cross,  Margaret,"  pleaded  Dorothy.  "I 
am  sure  you  would  not  if  you  understood  the  situation 
better." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  it  doesn't  make  me  feel  any  too 


222  The  Success  of  Failure 

good-natured  to  know  I  am  going  to  lose  you,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Gordon  irritably. 

"Surely,  that  is  not  necessary." 

"You  forget  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon  you  and 
Bob  are  to  become  one,"  reminded  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  asked  Dorothy, 
her  eyes  opening  wide. 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon,  sadly.  "After  that,  your  foes  will  be  his 
and  his  yours.  It  no  longer  will  be  I,  but  we;  not 
mine,  but  ours." 

"What  of  that?  Surely  a  reconciliation  between  you 
and  Bob  is  not  impossible.  Why  not  let  this  union 
be  the  means  of  bringing  it  about?" 

"I  wish  it  might,  but  there  is  only  one  condition 
which  could  make  that  possible." 

"The  discharging  of  Hannah  Thompson?" 

"Yes." 

"But,  Margaret,  think  how  cruel  and  unfair  that 
would  be.  Bob  would  not  be  true  to  himself  if  he  could 
do  such  a  thing." 

"Perhaps  not,  but  he  would  be  true  to  me." 

"And  false  to  himself,"  replied  Dorothy  with  a  faint 
smile.  "I  can't  imagine  Bob  ever  being  that." 

"Which  will  make  him  very  uncomfortable  to  live 
with,  I  am  of  the  opinion,  Dorothy." 

"Poor  Margaret,"  said  Dorothy,  bending  forward 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  223 

and  laying  her  hand  upon  one  of  Mrs.  Gordon's,  "you 
do  not  understand." 

"Don't  I?  Well,  we'll  see.  Anyway,  I  advise  you 
to  keep  your  sympathy  for  yourself ;  you  will  need  it, 
Dorothy,''  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  with  a  smile  which.  Dor 
othy  thought,  made  her  handsome  face  for  the  mo 
ment  positively  ugly.  "I  will  endeavor  to  live  without 
either  of  you." 

"Am  I  to  conclude,  then,  that  in  the  casting  out  of 
Bob,  you  also  cast  me  out?"  asked  Dorothy,  her  lips 
trembling. 

"You  will  soon  be  one,  will  you  not,  Dorothy  ?" 

"Yes." 

"That,  then,  answers  your  question,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon,  rising  and  pushing  back  her  chair.  "How 
ever,  I  should  be  glad,  Dorothy,  if  you  would  stay 
and  take  luncheon  with  me;  it  will  be,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  for  the  last  time.  Here  is  Douglas.  He  will,  I 
know,  be  interested  in  your  news." 

"Well,  well,  Dorothy,  how-do-you-do  ?"  said  Doctor 
Gordon,  smiling,  as  he  came  into  the  room.  "What 
fortunate  circumstance  is  responsible  for  your  pres 
ence  here  this  morning?"  and  he  crossed  the  room 
quickly  and  took  the  hand  she  extended.  "Feeling 
pretty  well?"  asked  he.  as  he  released  her  hand. 


224  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Nothing  to  boast  of,  Douglas,"  replied  she,  smil 
ingly  looking  up  at  him  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"Sit  down,  Douglas,"  commanded  Mrs.  Gordon. 
"Dorothy  has  some  interesting  news  for  you." 

"Have  you,  Dorothy?"  inquired  the  doctor,  seating 
himself  in  the  chair  Mrs.  Gordon  had  just  vacated. 
"Something  good,  I  suppose?" 

A  faint  color  came  into  Dorothy's  cheeks  and  spread 
over  her  face,  and  she  began  to  feel  decidedly  uncom 
fortable  under  the  scrutiny  of  the  doctor's  kindly 
blue  eyes. 

"Tell  him,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  moving 
slowly  toward  the  door,  "and  let  him  decide,"  her  keen 
eyes  noting  with  no  little  inward  degree  of  satisfaction 
Dorothy's  increasing  discomfiture.  "I'll  have  to  ask 
you  to  excuse  me,  however,"  added  she,  "while  I  make 
a  trip  to  the  dining-room  to  see  how  far  luncheon  has 
progressed  in  its  preparation." 

"What  is  it,  Dorothy?"  asked  the  doctor  as  Mrs. 
Gordon  stepped  through  the  doorway  and  descended 
a  long  flight  of  stairs. 

"Something  of  which  I  think  you  will  approve," 
replied  she.  "Bob  and  I  are  to  be  married  at  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"To  be  married  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon !"  re- 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  225 

peated  Doctor  Gordon,  very  much  surprised.  "Why, 
Dorothy,  I  thought  your  work  prohibited  you  from 
even  contemplating  such  a  thing.  How  did  this  change 
of  mind  come  about  ?  Surely,  you  did  not  permit  your 
self  to  be  over-persuaded?" 

"No,  I  can't  say  that  I  did,"  replied  she,  regarding 
Doctor  Gordon  with  a  pair  of  very  grave  eyes.  "To 
my  mind  it  is  the  culmination  of  many  disquieting 
facts." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Dorothy?"  asked  the 
doctor,  looking  puzzled. 

"This,"  replied  Dorothy,  her  voice  trembling:  "to 
my  sorrow  and  regret,  I  have  failed  to  fulfill  the  pur 
pose  and  boast  of  my  life ;  that  is,  to  establish  a  'home- 
living  place'  for  the  children  of  men." 

"How  is  that,  Dorothy?"  queried  the  doctor.  "I 
understood  you  were  making  it  more  or  less  of  a 
success." 

"Your  understanding  is  at  fault,  I  am  afraid,  Doug 
las,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  sad  shake  of  her  head,  "for 
it  is  less  of  a  success,  by  far,  than  I  hoped  it  would  be." 

"Indeed !  Well,  well,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  Dor 
othy,"  replied  the  doctor  sympathetically.  "But  don't 
you  think  you  are  a  trifle  pessimistic,  probably  owing 
to  your  poor  state  of  health?  \Vhat  you  need  is  a 


226  The  Success  of  Failure 

tonic.  Get  your  physician  to  prescribe  one  for  you. 
I  would  gladly  do  so,  as  you  know;  but  then,  you 
have  never  been  my  patient." 

"I  understand,  Douglas,"  said  Dorothy,  her  face 
pathetic  in  its  seriousness.  "However,  I  don't  believe 
I  can  attribute  the  state  of  affairs  to  my  poor  health ; 
in  fact,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  my  ill-health  is  owing 
to  the  prevailing  miserable  conditions.  And  it  is  use 
less  for  me  to  ask  my  physician  to  prescribe  a  tonic, 
for  he  has  done  so,  and  the  one  he  prescribes  is  him 
self." 

"And  what  do  you  think  about  it,  Dorothy?" 

"I  am  trying  not  to  think,  Douglas,  for  what  is  the 
use  when  I  have  resolved  to  do,  trusting  that  the 
remedy  prescribed  will  eventually  dissipate  and  oblit 
erate  all  the  elements  now  at  war?" 

"I  see,"  said  Doctor  Gordon,  laughing,  and  his  blue 
eyes  twinkling;  "you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  be  a 
good  patient  and  take  your  medicine,  no  matter  how 
nasty  the  taste." 

"I  intend  to  be  an  obedient  patient,  Douglas,"  said 
Dorothy,  trying  to  smile ;  "and  I  shall  not  mind  the 
taste  of  the  medicine  if  it  only  effects  a  cure." 

"Which  is  problematical,  of  course,"  said  Doctor 
Gordon.  "But,"  hopefully,  "it  may  be  possible,  after 
all." 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  227 

"It  promises  to  be,  and  I  must  content  myself  with 
that  for  the  present,"  said  Dorothy,  sighing. 

"Luncheon  is  ready,  Dorothy  and  Douglas,"  called 
Mrs.  Gordon  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "Come  right 
down." 

"We'll  be  right  down,  Margaret,"  they  called  back 
simultaneously,  and  rising,  the  doctor  preceding,  they 
went  downstairs. 

"You  may  sit  in  your  old  place,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon  when  they  entered  the  dining-room.  Then,  as 
she  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  the  doctor 
took  his  place  at  the  other,  she  turned  to  the  maid  and 
said: 

"You  may  be  excused  for  the  present.  Stay  in  the 
kitchen  and  I  will  ring  if  I  need  you." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  replied  Sarah. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Dorothy's  news  ?"  Mrs.  Gor 
don  asked  her  husband  when  the  maid  had  gone  and 
the  door  closed  behind  her. 

"Under  the  circumstances,  it  is  quite  surprising." 

"Is  that  all  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon,  her  eyes  opening 
wide  in  amazement.  "It  is  much  more,  I  can  assure 
you,  than  that  to  me." 

"Rather  a  regrettable  surprise,  I  suppose?"  inquired 
the  doctor,  removing  with  a  fork  a  lamb  chop  from 


228  The  Success  of  Failure 

the  platter,  which  he  placed  upon  a  plate  and  passed 
to  Dorothy. 

"Words  are  inadequate  to  express  just  how  I  feel 
about  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sharply,  as  she  ar 
ranged  the  cups  and  proceeded  to  pour  out  the  tea. 

''Oh,"  said  the  doctor  soothingly,  putting  a  chop 
upon  another  plate  and  passing  it,  with  the  assistance 
of  Dorothy,  to  his  wife,  "it  may  not  prove  such  a 
terrible  thing  for  Dorothy,  after  all.  You  are  far  too 
prone,  Margaret,  to  take  the  gray  view  of  life.  You 
should  be  more  hopeful." 

"Like  you?"  queried  Mrs.  Gordon  sneeringly. 
"Sometimes,  Douglas,  do  you  know,  I  believe  that 
optimistic  view  of  life  which  you  are  so  fond  of  taking 
and  which  you  so  readily  recommend  to  your  wife, 
your  friends  and  patients,  will,  some  day,  be  the  death 
of  you.  Everything,  no  matter  how  serious  it  may 
appear,  to  your  mind  is  all  right,  or,  at  any  rate,  will 
eventually  be  so,  if  people  would  only  train  their  minds 
to  believe  it.  It  is,  no  doubt,  very  pleasant  to  mentally 
close  the  eyes  to  the  unpleasantnesses  of  the  real  and 
existing,  and  open  them  to  view  the  delightful  phan 
tasies  of  the  unreal  and  non-existent.  But  it  is  not 
safe.  It  is  not  possible  to  glide  through  life  in  any 
such  easy-going  fashion  without,  sooner  or  later,  meet- 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  229 

ing  the  consequences.  This  marital  arrangement  of 
Dorothy's  I  consider  positively  disastrous  to  her,  to 
you  and  to  me." 

'That  sounds  rather  bad,  doesn't  it,  Dorothy?"  said 
Doctor  Gordon,  smiling  over  at  her.  "But  the  sound, 
I  feel  sure,  will  prove  worse  than  the  cause." 

Dorothy  forced  a  smile  as  she  said : 

"Should  this  union  result  unfortunately  for  me,  I 
hope,  with  all  my  heart,  its  consequences  may  not  touch 
either  of  you.  I  must  admit  I  am  not  entering  it  as 
willingly  as  I  wish  I  were ;  it  is  because  I  must, — I  can 
see  no  other  way.  You,  Margaret,  I  know,  would 
have  me  continue  my  struggle  with  the  ever-accumu 
lating  and  insurmountable  obstacles  rather  than  risk' 
a  change  which  might  prove,  as  you  say,  'disastrous'  in 
its  results.  Douglas,  you  are  more  hopeful, — and  you 
must  forgive  me  for  saying  what  I  am  going  to  say, — 
but  it  is  because  you  are  less  interested.  Your  dream 
ing  faith  satisfies  you,  and  you  are  slow  to  be  aroused. 
To  you  everything  is  all  right  when  really  it  is  all 
wrong.  Delightful  companion  to  many  upon  the  road 
of  life  though  you  are,  you  are  not  a  safe  one  to 
follow.  The  crier  who  cries  out,  'All  is  well,'  knowing 
not  himself  that  all  is  ill,  is  not  the  one  to  heed.  When 
I  consented,  at  last,  to  Bob's  earnest  and  persistent 


230  The  Success  of  Failure 

pleading  that  I  should  marry  him,  I  firmly  believed 
that  it  would  bring  about  a  reconciliation  between  you, 
Margaret,  and  him ;  and  you,  Douglas,  could  enjoy 
again  the  companionship  of  your  old  friend.  In  this,  I 
am  pained  to  learn,  I  was  mistaken.  That  I  love  you 
both,  I  think  you  know,  and  to  break  a  friendship  of 
so  many,  many  years,  I  feel  you  cannot  fail  to  appreci 
ate,  is  costing  me  dear." 

As  Dorothy  finished  speaking,  her  voice  broke  and 
she  felt  in  her  bag  for  her  handkerchief,  and,  pushing 
back  her  plate  from  which  she  had  made  a  pretense 
at  eating,  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  streaming  eyes. 

"Don't  cry,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor;  "everything, 
no  doubt,  will  come  out  much  better  than  we  an 
ticipate." 

"Let  her  alone,  Douglas,"  commanded  Mrs.  Gordon. 
"A  good  cry  will  do  her  good,"  and  the  doctor 
subsided. 

In  a  few  minutes  Dorothy's  sobs  ceased,  and  she 
wiped  the  last  trace  of  her  tears  away. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  do  this,"  she  said,  making  a  pitiful 
attempt  to  smile. 

"Don't  apologize,  Dorothy;  I  feel  very  much  the 
same  way,  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  huskily.  "How- 


Dorothy  Bids  Fareivell  231 

ever,  what  must  be,  must  be,  I  suppose,  and  we  must 
make  up  our  minds  to  bear  it." 

"Is  a  reconciliation  between  you  and  Bob  so  im 
possible,  then?"  wistfully  asked  Dorothy. 

"Under  present  conditions,  Dorothy,  I  regret  to  say 
it  is  quite  impossible,"  decidedly  replied  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"Why  under  the  present  conditions,  Margaret?" 
asked  her  husband,  mystified. 

"Because  a  reconciliation  under  the  present  condi 
tions  would  mean  the  ultimate  doom  of  my  supremacy ; 
it  would  mean  the  acknowledgment  of  a  greater  force 
than  mine  and  a  willingness  to  submit  to  its  domina 
tion/'  explained  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"And  this  you  cannot  do  because  you  recognize  no 
such  force  ?"  queried  her  husband. 

"That  is  just  it,  exactly,"  replied  his  wife,  pushing 
her  cup  and  saucer  back  and  rising  from  the  table. 

"Bob,  I  am  sure,  would  not  insist  upon  that,"  said 
Dorothy,  as  she,  too,  rose  from  the  table. 

"Not  in  words,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  ringing 
the  bell  for  the  maid  and  then  leading  the  way  upstairs, 
"but  in  deeds,  yes." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Margaret,"  said  her  hus 
band  from  the  rear.  "Indeed.  I  am  sure  you  are ;  for 
my  experience  with  Bob  has  proven  to  me  that  he  is 


232  The  Success  of  Failure 

a  mighty  fine  fellow.  I  don't  claim  to  understand  him, 
altogether,  but " 

"No,  nor  no  one  else,"  tartly  interrupted  Mrs.  Gor 
don.  "There  might  be  some  living  with  him  if  one 
could." 

"Come  now,  you  are  rather  hard  upon  the  poor 
fellow,"  said  her  husband,  laughing. 

"Not  a  bit  more  so  than  he  is  on  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon  as  she  reached  the  top  step  and  led  the  way 
to  the  room  where  they  had  been  previously  sitting. 
"How  many  times  has  he  intimated  that  it  would  be 
agreeable  to  him  if  I  would  mind  my  own  business ; 
that  my  interference  was  not  desired,  and  he  would 
be  grateful  to  me  if  I  would  wait  until  it  was  so 
licited  !" 

"Poor  Bob,"  mused  Dorothy,  taking  up  her  hat  and 
putting  it  on ;  "I  am  beginning  to  believe  our  failure 
to  appreciate  him  is  due  to  our  lack  of  understanding." 

"He  will  not  be  slow  to  improve  yours,  Dorothy, 
never  fear,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon  sarcastically,  as  her 
husband  picked  up  Dorothy's  coat  from  the  couch  and 
he]d  it  open  for  her  to  put  her  arms  into  its  sleeves. 
"You  may  rest  assured  he  will  see  to  it  that  you  have 
every  opportunity  to  duly  appreciate  him.  I  must  say 
T  do  not  envy  you  the  experience." 

"Come  now,  Margaret,"  interposed  the  doctor,  shak 
ing  his  head  rebukingly  at  her,  "the  experience  mav 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  233 

not  prove  so  altogether  unpleasant  as  you  think.  We'll 
hope  not,  anyway,"  added  he  encouragingly. 

"Thank  you,  Douglas,"  said  Dorothy,  buttoning  up 
her  coat. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I  am  very  hard,  Dorothy,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  placing  a  hand  upon  each  of  Dorothy's 
shoulders  and  looking  down  into  her  face  with  swim 
ming  eyes.  "If  I  appear  so,  it  is  only  because  I  feel  I 
must;  for  in  this  union  about  to  take  place  I  recog 
nize,  in  a  way  you  and  Douglas  cannot,  its  awful  signifi 
cance.  It  is  not  easy,  believe  me,  my  dear,  to  bid  good- 
by  to  an  old  friend  and  stand  quietly  by  and  watch 
her  pass  out  of  your  life,  knowing  that  her  identity 
will  soon  be  submerged  into  that  of  another,  whose 
only  desire  and  purpose  is  to  make  her  unrecognizable 
even  to  herself.  Conditions,  I  know,  must  indeed 
have  been  alarming  to  have  made  you  contemplate 
such  a  step;  but  do  you  think  it  possible  that  a  mar 
riage  brought  about  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances 
can  result  happily  ?  Would  it  not  be  wiser  to  struggle 
and  fight  with  known  conditions  than  to  permit  them 
to  force  you  into  a  life  of  which  you  know  nothing, 
and  into  which  you  admit  you  are  about  to  enter  un 
willingly  ?  Is  it  wise  to  exchange  a  known  present 
for  a  strange  and  untried  future?  You  have  some 
little  time  between  now  and  four  o'clock,  and  in  that 
time  I  strongly  advise  you  to  stop  and  think  well  and 


234  I  >lc  Success  of  Failure 

long  before  definitely  deciding  to  take  this  terribly  im 
portant  and  non-retreating  step." 

"It  is  useless  to  tell  me  to  think,  Margaret,"  said 
Dorothy,  with  a  hoarse  laugh,  "for,  if  thinking  alone 
were  necessary,  I  should  not  be  here  now  about  to  bid 
you  goodby.  I  have  thought  and  thought  until  my 
brain  reels  with  thought,  but  without  a  satisfactory 
result.  Now,  come  what  may,"  emphatically,  "I  am 
going  to  act." 

"Very  well,  Dorothy,"  replied  Mrs.  Gordon,  remov 
ing  her  hands  and  stepping  back  a  little;  "I  shall  not 
attempt  to  dissuade  you  further." 

"Then  I  shall  bid  you  goodby,  Margaret,"  said  Dor 
othy,  holding  out  her  hand  and  lifting  her  face  to  be 
kissed;  "and,  in  spite  of  what  you  have  said,  I  shall 
look  forward  to  a  meeting  and  a  greeting  between  us, 
some  day." 

"Goodby,  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  stooping 
down  and  kissing  her ;  "you  little  guess  how  lonely  I 
am  going  to  be  without  you,"  and  a  tear  dropped  upon 
Dorothy's  forehead. 

"Goodby,  Douglas,"  said  Dorothy,  turning  to  place 
her  hand  in  the  doctor's  outstretched  palm ;  "bright  and 
happy  friend  that  you  are,  I  shall  miss  you  sadly." 

"I  don't  think  you  will,  Dorothy,"  said  Doctor  Gor 
don,  doubtfully.  "Although  I  am  regarded  by  many  as 
being  the  greater  physician,  I  know  I  am  not.  I  am 


Dorothy  Bids  Farewell  235 

but  the  shadow  of  the  infinitely  greater  physician,  and 
he  it  is  with  whom  your  life  is  to  be  united  today. 
Goodby,  Dorothy,  it  has  been  pleasant  to  know  you, 
but  you  will  soon  cease  to  think  or  speak  of  me,  for 
you  will  have  found  in  your  husband  one  greater 
than  I." 

And  thus  Dorothy  bade  farewell  to  Convention  and 
to  Optimism. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   MARRIAGE 

"¥  DON'T  believe  you  were  ever  late  in  keeping  an 
JL  appointment,  were  you,  Bob?"  asked  Dorothy  as 
Doctor  Ross  helped  her  into  the  automobile  and  she 
sat  down  in  a  seat  to  the  right  of  the  open  door. 

"No;  I  have  always  taken  particular  care  to  keep 
my  engagements  promptly,"  replied  the  doctor,  step 
ping  in  behind  her,  "and,"  sitting  down  and  pulling 
the  door  shut,  "it  would  indeed  be  surprising,  would 
it  not,  if  I  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  ap 
pointed  time  upon  my  wedding-day?" 

Dorothy  smiled  and  nodded  in  response. 

"You  may  proceed,  John,"  said  Doctor  Ross  to  the 
motionless  figure  sitting  in  front. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  John,  and  the  car  began  to 
make  its  way  slowly  up  the  street. 

"Well,  Dorothy,"  queried  the  doctor,  taking  posses 
sion  of  her  small  hands  and  holding  them  tightly, 
"does  our  prospective  marriage  still  frighten  you?" 

"I  can't  say  that  it  does ;  but  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
236 


The  Marriage  237 

Bob,  my  condition  is  such  that  I  have  neither  the  power 
to  dread  nor  fear  anything.  All  my  faculties  are  be 
numbed  and  I  feel  as  though  I  were  partly  asleep." 

"Poor  little  girl,"'  tenderly  said  the  doctor,  releasing 
her  hands  and  putting  his  arm  gently  around  her  and 
drawing  her  close  to  his  side,  "you  have  had  a  pretty 
hard  time." 

"Yes,  indeed  I  have;  and  even  you,  Bob,  I  don't 
believe  know  how  very  hard  it  all  has  been." 

"Don't  you  believe  that,  Dorothy,  for,  I  assure  you,  I 
fully  appreciated  your  position.  But  bid  it  goodby  and 
leave  it  with  the  many  other  things  of  yesterday,  for 
today  you  enter  into  a  new  kingdom,  a  kingdom  in 
corruptible  and  without  decay." 

"I  have  often  planned  and  dreamed  of  such  a  king 
dom,"  replied  Dorothy  sadly,  "but  try  as  I  would  I 
was  never  able  to  realize  it." 

"You  could  not  without  me,  dearest,"  replied  Doctor 
Ross,  pressing  her  to  him. 

"It  seems  not,"  replied  Dorothy,  making  a  feeble  ef 
fort  to  withdraw  from  his  embrace.  "But  tell  me 
something  of  this  kingdom  into  which  I  am  about  to 
enter." 

"It  is  a  kingdom,  Dorothy,"  replied  Doctor  Ross, 
with  one  of  his  rare  smiles  which  lit  up  his  usually  grave 


238  The  Success  of  Failure 

face  and  made  it  for  the  moment  astonishingly  beauti 
ful,  "where,  as  in  the  world  you  are  leaving,  men  reap 
what  they  sow; — the  only  difference  being,  however, 
that  in  the  one  to  which  we  are  travelling  no  tares  are 
sown  and,  therefore,  the  reaping  is  a  pleasant  task; 
and,  although  his  labors  are  many,  the  voice  of  man  is 
never  heard  raised,  pleading  weariness,  hunger,  cold 
or  nakedness,  for  here  man  finds  his  rest,  his  suste 
nance,  his  warmth  and  raiment  in  his  work.  Here  man. 
without  the  thought  of  what  evil  his  brother-man  may 
do  unto  him,  enters  into  the  morning  of  life.  Fearless 
he  runs,  undaunted  by  the  fear  of  a  possible  failure 
coming  to  him  on  the  morrow ;  for,  for  him,  no  such 
word  exists.  Failures  do  not  grow  here;  man  fulfills 
the  purpose  of  his  creation  and  succeeds.  Here " 

"What  a  wonderful  kingdom  it  must  be !"  interrupted 
Dorothy  musingly.  "I  wish  I  were  not  so  skeptical." 

"Until  you  are  torn  up  root  and  branch,  you  will 
continue  to  be  so,  Dorothy,"  replied  the  doctor,  ten 
derly  smiling  down  into  her  tired  and  care-worn  face. 
"However,  don't  despair,  for  your  tree  is  soon  to  be 
planted  in  a  decidedly  different  soil,  the  elements  of 
which  are  so  sadly  needed  for  its  perfect  growth." 

Dorothy  sighed,  shook  her  head  and  sadly  smiled. 

"I  trust  it  will  not  suffer  from  the  transplanting," 
she  said. 


The  Marriage  239 

"Don't  let  that  cause  you  any  uneasiness,  Dorothy ; 
there  is  no  fear  of  that.  So  beautiful  will  it  become, 
you  will  be  unable  to  recognize  in  it  the  gnarled  and 
scarred  trunk,  with  its  stooped,  over-burdened  and 
yellow-leafed  laden  branches,  of  your  old  tree.  Proud 
ly  erect  will  it  stand,  flaunting  its  stout  branches  de 
fiantly  to  every  wind  that  blows,  be  they  ever  so 
destructive-seeking  in  their  tempestuousness.  And 
how  you  will  love  this  tree.  Dorothy,  for  it  will  reflect 
your  strength  as  the  one  now  reflects  your  weakness. 
It  will  proclaim  to  all  the  world  in  the  song  of  the 
leaves,  as  they  sway  back  and  forth  upon  their  branches, 
man's  conquest  of  self,  as  the  one  now  proclaims  him 
her  devotee.  Its  growth  will  mean  the  perfection  of 
man,  rendering  all  his  works  acceptable  and  worthy  of 
their  creation.'' 

''You  are  foretelling  a  strange  future,  Bob,"  said 
Dorothy,  gazing  dreamily  ahead,  "and  one  so  amaz 
ingly  different  from  all  that  I  have  ever  known,  that 
I  can  hardly  believe  its  existence  possible.  Neverthe 
less,  I  hope  it  comes  true.  Anyway."  resignedly,  "it 
is  too  late,  if  it  were  of  any  use,  to  look  back." 

"That  is  true.  But  in  a  very  little  while  I  shall  have 
taken  vour  future  and  made  it  mine,  and  I  shall  then 
be  responsible  for  its  fulfillment.  Trust  me,  Dorothy," 


240  The  Success  of  Failure 

he  pleaded,  "for  the  joys  of  the  morrow  and  for  the 
replacing  of  your  yesterday  with  a  greater  today." 

"There  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do,  now,  but  to  trust 
you,  is  there,  Bob?"  asked  Dorothy  plaintively. 

"There  has  never  been  anything  else  you  could 
safely  do  but  to  trust  me,  Dorothy.  The  fact  that  you 
did  not  do  so  long  ago,  showed  a  lack  of  wisdom  which 
you  proudly  boasted  you  possessed." 

"Well,  I  boast  of  nothing,  now,"  replied  Dorothy 
listlessly.  "But  don't  talk  about  that  any  more;  tell 
me  something  more  of  this  wonderful  kingdom  which 
is  yours  and  is  soon  to  be  mine." 

"There  is  so  much  to  tell  and  so  little  you  are  able 
to  understand,  now,  Dorothy.  I  might  tell  you  many 
things,  but  what  would  be  the  use?  You  would  fail 
utterly  to  appreciate  their  beauty  or  significance.  They 
are  the  things  of  tomorrow,  while  you,  you  must  re 
member,  are  still  a  part  of  today." 

Dorothy  moved  restlessly  in  her  seat. 

"Have  we  much  farther  to  go  before  we  arrive  at 
our  destination?"  asked  she. 

"Not  so  very  far ;  we  are  very  nearly  there.  Anxious 
to  have  it  over  with  ?"  the  doctor  asked  teasingly. 

"Well,  I  shall  not  be  sorry  when  it  is,"  replied  Dor 
othy,  vainly  endeavoring  to  control  the  trembling  of 
her  lips. 


The  Marriage  241 

"Nor  shall  I,"  replied  he.  "However,  it  isn't  going 
to  be  half  as  bad  as  you  think,"  and  he  patted  her  hand 
reassuringly. 

At  that  instant  the  car  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  a 
very  narrow  road.  It  was  sufficiently  wide  to  permit 
the  tread  of  the  human  foot,  but  forbade  all  other  con 
veyances.  Here  John  got  down  from  his  seat  and 
opened  the  door. 

"We  get  out  here,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor,  rising 
to  his  feet  and  stepping  to  the  sidewalk. 

"Do  we?"  queried  she,  getting  to  her  feet  and  look 
ing  curiously  around.  "But  I  don't  see  any  churches," 
added  she  as  she  placed  her  hand  in  the  doctor's  and 
stepped  out,  and  she  glanced  anxiously  up  and  down 
on  both  sides  of  the  avenue. 

"They  are  not  necessary  to  our  union,"  said  the 
doctor,  taking  her  arm  and  directing  her  steps  toward 
the  narrow  entrance.  "We  will  find  our  temple  at  the 
end  of  this  road." 

As  they  stood  and  viewed  the  road  from  the  en 
trance,  it  seemed  to  Dorothy  that  it  extended  in  a 
straight  line  a  great,  great  distance,  but  in  reality 
it  proved  to  be  a  very,  very  short  road.  At  the  end 
of  it,  entirely  covering  the  ground  and  concealing  all 
that  lay  beyond,  stood  a  huge  temple.  Indescribably 


242  The  Success  of  Failure 

beautiful  was  this  monument  of  unsurpassed  archi 
tecture,  defying  in  its  structure  and  being  all  imita 
tion  ;  nor  was  it  possible  for  any  alien  school  to  admit 
of  its  reproduction.  Through  its  large  doors  passed  in 
and  out  a  great  multitude  of  men,  women  and  children. 
With  appalling  indifference  to  the  marvelous  beauty 
of  this  magnificent  edifice  they  came  and  went.  Some, 
in  their  hurry,  gave  it  barely  a  glance  as  they  stepped 
in  and  stepped  out.  Others,  moving  more  leisurely, 
paused  for  a  moment  or  so  to  gaze  upon  it  with  more 
or  less  idle  curiosity,  while  others,  lazily  loitering 
about,  amused  themselves  with  a  show  of  seeming  in 
terest;  but  they,  too,  finally,  wearied  of  what  to  them 
were  its  many  bewildering  intricacies,  passed  on. 

Awed  by  its  gigantic  proportions,  Dorothy  withdrew 
her  arm  from  the  doctor's  and,  stopping  abruptly  in 
the  road,  surveyed  it  with  evident  uneasiness.  Its 
form  was  familiar  and,  in  a  vague  way,  it  seemed  to 
her  to  strangely  resemble  the  representation  of  existing 
humanity. 

"What  an  extraordinary  building,  Bob!"  she  ex 
claimed,  stepping  to  one  side  a  little  and  regarding  it 
somewhat  fearfully. 

"Do  you  think  so,  Dorothy  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do!     Don't  you?" 


The  Marriage  243 

''I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  replied  the  doctor,  smiling. 
"But  then,  that  may  be  because  it  has  always  been  my 
place  of  worship.  You  see,  I  know  no  other  temple 
but  this." 

"And  yet  you  have  never  brought  me  here  before  ?" 

''It  was  not  my  fault;  you  know  I  could  not  prevail 
upon  you  to  come,  Dorothy." 

"You  never  asked  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have." 

"I  don't  remember." 

"But  I  have.  Not  only  have  I  asked  you,  but  I  have 
pleaded  with  you  to  worship  with  me  in  my  temple. 
You  preferred  your  own,  your  temples  of  brick  and 
stone,  and  you  found  that  these,  too,  had  their  limi 
tations." 

"And  has  not  this,  also,  its  limitations?" 

"When  united  to  me,  no,"  replied  the  doctor,  his  face 
shining.  "As  it  is  impossible  to  render  a  perfect 
service  without  me,  so  also  it  is  impossible  to  truly 
worship  in  this  temple  without  me.  To  worship  with 
me.  here,  Dorothv.  we  must  be  united ;  old  things  must 
pass  away  and  all  things  become  new.  But  come,  they 
are  waiting,"  and  the  doctor  once  more  placed  his  arm 
within  Dorothy's. 

"Who  are  waiting?"  asked  Dorothy,  reluctantly  per- 


244  The  Success  of  Failure 

mining  him  to  lead  her  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
temple. 

"The  forces  which  are  to  make  us  one,"  replied  the 
doctor,  releasing  her  arm  and  pushing  open  the  doors 
to  permit  them  to  enter. 

Side  by  side,  up  the  long  aisle  they  went  until  they 
reached  the  chancel-rail,  where  they  stopped  and  stood 
perfectly  still,  listening  to  the  murmuring  of  the  many 
riotous  voices  that  filled  the  air  about  them.  Then  a 
voice  which  silenced  all  the  others  filled  the  mighty 
temple.  It  was  like  the  roar  of  the  raging  sea  and  of 
the  driving  wind.  Loudly  it  thundered  forth  its  com 
mands,  and  Dorothy  listened  and  trembled;  with  au 
thority  it  made  its  mandates  known,  and,  as  peal  after 
peal  rang  out,  her  courage  and  strength  deserted  her. 
Turning,  she  put  out  two  unsteady  hands  and  clung, 
weak  and  drooping,  to  Doctor  Ross  and  hid  her  face 
upon  his  breast.  Thus  she  stood,  repeating  feebly, 
after  that  awful  voice,  the  words  which  were  to  make 
them  one. 

At  last  it  was  all  over  and  silence  once  more  reigned 
within  the  temple.  With  a  sigh  of  relief,  Dorothy 
made  a  weak  attempt  to  lift  her  head ;  bat  in  vain,  for 
with  a  shuddering1  groan,  which  shook  her  from  head 
to  foot,  she  slipped  a  lifeless  heap  to  the  floor. 

Although  dead  to  all  that  was  without,  Dorothy  was 
keenly  alive  to  the  growing  disturbances  that  were 


The  Marriage  245 

within.  A  war,  over  which  she  had  no  control,  was 
being  waged;  the  members  of  her  body  were  arrayed 
against  each  other.  It  was  a  strife  between  the  new 
and  the  old,  between  youth  and  old  age.  And  what  a 
strife !  How  they  struggled  for  supremacy  !  The  old, 
in  their  determination  not  to  make  way  for  the  new, 
battled  fiercely  with  their  adversaries.  Not  willingly 
would  they  surrender  her  to  their  opponents.  In  fact, 
they  stubbornly  decreed  there  should  be  no  surrender ; 
they  would  retain  what  they  had  or  die  in  the  losing. 
The  new,  no  less  unyielding,  fought  their  foes  valiant 
ly,  holding  determinedly  every  bit  of  ground  gained. 
On  and  on  they  pressed,  forcing  back,  step  by  step, 
the  old,  who,  in  spite  of  age  and  worn-out  and  much- 
used  weapons,  fought  bravely.  They  were,  however, 
no  match  for  the  new,  and  their  boasted  strength  was 
a  weak  thing  when  directed  against  that  of  the  enemy ; 
and  their  implements  of  war  were  as  the  toys  of  chil 
dren  when  used  in  combat  with  the  up-to-date  ones 
of  the  new.  Bravely  they  tried  to  hold  their  ground, 
but  in  vain.  Back  and  back  they  are  pressed  until 
there  is  no  longer  any  standing  room.  Vanquished 
at  last  are  they,  and  prisoners  of  war  must  they  be 
come.  The  new  are  now  in  possession  of  the  field  and, 
after  due  deliberation,  sentence  the  old  to  confinement 


246  The  Success  of  Failure 

in  the  historical  structures  of  the  past,  their  liberation 
being  wholly  dependent  upon  the  instruction  they  may 
afford  to  coming  humanity. 

That  her  life  was  dependent  upon  the  change 
through  which  she  was  going,  Dorothy  was  vaguely 
conscious ;  and  when  she  opened  her  eyes  it  was  with 
the  realization  that  she  had  been  born  anew,  and  her 
spirit  rejoiced  at  the  newness  and  fitness  of  things. 
And  the  face  that  was  bending  over  her  in  tender 
solicitude  was  no  longer  the  face  of  a  stranger,  for 
she  recognized  it  as  belonging  to  that  of  an  old  but 
untried  friend.  It  was  the  face  of  the  Great  Father 
of  Service.  As  she  gazed  into  that  all-inspiring  face, 
fully  alive  at  last  to  its  wonderful  beauty,  she  knew — 
and  the  knowledge  filled  her  with  unutterable  gladness 
— that  the  veil  that  had  obscured  it  from  her  vision 
for  ages  was  rent  in  twain  forever.  Her  whole  being 
rang  with  the  song  that  had  been  shut  up  in  her  heart 
for  untold  years —  Such  a  joyous  song  it  was,  divinely 
composed,  so  sweet  and  tender,  and  yet  withal  so 
strong. 

"Come,  my  child,"  said  the  melodious  voice  of  the 
Father  of  Service,  smiling  and  extending  his  hand  to 
assist  her  to  arise,  "for  your  husband  stands  without, 
patiently  awaiting  the  coming  of  his  bride." 

Without  a  word,  Dorothy  laid  her  hand  in  his  and 


The  Marriage  247 

obediently  arose  and  accompanied  him  to  the  door  of 
the  temple.  At  the  threshold  stood  her  husband,  who, 
at  their  approach,  smiled  and  extended  his  hands. 

"Love,"  said  the  Father  of  Service,  addressing  Doc 
tor  Ross,  "I  give  into  your  keeping  my  child,  Service." 
and  taking  the  hands  of  Dorothy  he  placed  them  in 
the  outstretched  hands  of  her  husband.  "She  will  be 
to  you  a  faithful,  true  and  obedient  wife,  will  you  not. 
my  daughter?" 

"I  will,"  earnestly  replied  Dorothy. 

"And  you,  Love,"  continued  the  Father  of  Service, 
enfolding  them  both  in  his  gigantic  arms,  "will  be  unto 
her  a  husband  indeed.  To  no  other  could  I  so  safely, 
so  utterly  and  so  happily  confide  her,  for  in  you  only  is 
her  abiding  place.  No  longer  will  she  be  storm-tossed 
and  tempest-driven,  for  you  will  be  to  her  a  pilot  of 
ways,  a  leader  of  the  paths  wherein  to  dwell.  As  a 
wedding-gift,  I  present  you  with  my  mantle,"  and,  re 
moving  his  arms,  he  took  from  his  shoulders  a  mantle 
of  azure  blue,  trimmed  with  a  soft,  transparent  ma 
terial  of  pure  white.  This  he  placed  about  them. 

"This  mantle  is  indestructible  and  will  last  to  the  end 
of  time,"  he  said.  "Now  go  forth  into  the  world  and 
give  unto  it  the  fruit  of  your  perfect  union,  that  man 
kind  mav  eat  and  live." 


248  The  Success  of  Failure 

Then  Love  and  Service,  with  arms  entwined,  passed 
on  and  out  into  the  world  to  fulfill  their  great  mission. 
There  will  be  no  more  stumbling  for  Service,  for  Love 
will  ever  be  a  light  unto  her  feet.  No  longer  will  she 
prohibit  Love  from  taking  his  place  in  the  affairs  of 
men,  for  now  she  recognizes  her  great  need  of  him. 
There  will  be  no  more  shadowy  daylight,  but  a  perfect 
day ;  no  more  hoping  to  end  in  idle  dreaming,  no  seem 
ing  without  a  meaning,  but  a  love  of  life  and  a  perfect 
being. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HANNAH   LEARNS  OF  THE  DOCTOR'S   MARRIAGE 

WHEN  Hannah  arrived  at  the  office  the  morning 
following  the  day  when  Dorothy  and  Doctor 
Ross  (as  we  shall  continue  to  call  them)  became  one, 
she  found  the  doctor  already  there,  busily  engaged  in 
the  perusal  of  the  morning's  mail. 

"Good-morning,"  said  he,  glancing  smilingly  up  as 
she  entered. 

"Good-morning,  doctor,"  replied  she,  hurriedly  un 
buttoning  her  coat  as  she,  with  quickened  step,  crossed 
the  room  and  opened  the  door  leading  into  her  office. 
In  a  few  moments  she  came  out  ready  for  work. 

"Is  the  mail  unusually  large  this  morning,  doctor?" 
she  asked, 

"No;  but  I  expect  it  will  be  from  now  on,"  he  re 
plied,  looking  up  and  bringing  to  view  a  face  wholly 
transfigured.  With  her  eyes  fixed  upon  it,  Hannah 
gazed  with  wondering  awe  and  mute  amazement.  In 
outline  the  face  was  the  same,  and  yet,  in  some  un- 
explainable  way,  it  was  totally  different  in  other  re- 

249 


250  The  Success  of  Failure 

spects.  There  was  the  same  nobility  of  expression, 
but  the  eyes  had  lost  their  look  of  sorrowful  rebuke, 
and  in  their  depths  there  glowed  an  unfathomable  and 
unspeakable  joy.  The  hitherto  drawn  and  troubled 
brow  was  smooth  and  serene,  and  the  smile  that  played 
about  the  lips  was  no  longer  sweetly  grave  and  patheti 
cally  sad,  but  was  tenderly  happy  and  wonderfully 
glad.  The  skin,  too,  had  changed  and  become  healthy- 
hued.  Truly,  it  was  the  face  of  a  bride-groom  rejoic 
ing  in  the  possession  of  his  bride. 

"Well,  are  you  satisfied?"  asked  he,  as  Hannah  con 
tinued  to  look  speechlessly  into  his  face.  "Are  you 
pleased  with  the  improvement?" 

"I  can't  say,  yet,"  replied  she,  without  removing 
her  eyes.  "You  see,  I  was  not,  in  any  way,  prepared 
for  the  change.  May  I  ask  what  produced  it?" 

"Certainly.     I  was  married  yesterday." 

"Married !"  exclaimed  Hannah  incredulously.  "You 
are  joking.  I  can't  believe  it." 

"Am  I  so  impossible  as  all  that?" 

"Nb,  it  is  not  that.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  woman 
worthy  of  you." 

"And  yet  no  woman  is  truly  worthy  without  me," 
said  he,  smiling. 

"No?"  queried  she,  wrinkling  her  forehead  per 
plexedly.  "I  am  afraid  I  don't  quite  understand  you." 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      251 

"That  is  because,  in  spite  of  our  pleasant  acquaint 
anceship,  you  have  made  no  real  effort  to  know  me." 

"I  can't  think  that  that  is  my  fault,"  she  replied 
thoughtfully.  "Your  altogether  loveliness  of  char 
acter  I  cannot  fail  to  admire,  but,"  sadly  shaking  her 
head,  "I  despair  of  ever  understanding  it." 

"And  yet  my  admirable  qualities  are  not  something 
which  you  may  not  possess.  They  really  belong  to 
you  and  are  the  rightful  inheritance  of  every  member 
of  the  human  family." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Hannah,  doubt 
fully  shaking  her  head ;  "for,  if  that  is  so,  why  is  hu 
manity  so  slow  in  claiming  its  inheritance?" 

"Because  of  its  self-satisfied  ignorance,  and  it  suf 
fers  therefor  a  painful  consequence." 

"It  apparently  is  not  cognizant  of  its  cause,"  replied 
Hannah,  sitting  down  upon  a  chair  near  the  desk. 

"And  for  that  reason  suffers  the  suffering." 

"And  is  it  not  through  striving  and  suffering  that 
man  hopes  to  attain  perfection?"  asked  Hannah  won 
der  ingly. 

"It  is ;  but  that  is  only  because  his  blindness  prohibits 
him  from  seeing  any  other  way." 

"Then,  surely,  he  is  not  to  blame  if  he  is  unable  to 
see  any  other  way,"  protested  Hannah. 


252  The  Success  of  Failure 

"He  would  not  be,  if  his  blindness  were  not  of  his 
own  seeking." 

"You  mean  he  could  see  if  he  would,  but  he  won't?" 

"That  is  just  it.  He  obstinately  shuts  his  eyes,  and 
it  is  only  the  way  of  the  suffering  that  will  make  him 
open  them.  It  is  only  by  traveling  this  way  that  he 
can  be  induced  to  look  for  another  and  better  way." 

"Then  it  is  the  obstinacy  of  man  which  has  made  the 
way  of  suffering  possible?" 

"Yes ;  he  prefers  to  travel  the  way  of  the  blind,  and 
will  not,  willingly,  see  any  other.  Questioningly,  falter- 
ingly  and  with  uncertain  step  he  travels  along,  un 
mindful  of  the  light  flooding  the  roadway  close  by 
him.  On,  and  on,  with  hands  outstretched  feeling  his 
way,  he  goes,  stumbling  oft  and  receiving  many  a  need 
less  bruise  and  fall.  To  avoid  the  many  prostrate 
forms  lying  in  his  path,  his  steps  are  necessarily  in 
creased  and  he  makes  but  little  headway.  Indeed," 
said  the  doctor,  mournfully  shaking  his  head,  "his 
progress  is  a  slow  and  painful  one." 

"Indeed  it  is,"  assented  Hannah,  sighing.  "Why,  oh 
why,  is  it  necessary  for  man  to  learn  only  through 
painful  experiences?"  questioned  she,  adding,  "and 
these,  even,  do  not  always  avail." 

"That  is  true;  they  do  not.  For,  in  spite  of  mis 
takes  and  unfortunate  happenings,  he,  stubbornly  dis- 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      253 

regarding  the  cause,  continues  to  blindly  struggle  on 
along  the  old  pathway,  unwilling  to  open  his  eyes  to 
the  light  of  day  which  shines  over  him,  in  him  and 
around  him;  and,  at  last,  unable  to  stagger  longer 
under  the  burdens  of  life  which  he  has  piled,  bit  by 
bit,  upon  his  shoulders,  he  becomes  one  more  prostrate 
form  to  fill  the  roadway,  and,  muttering  unintelligible 
somethings  about  a  Divine  Providence,  he  lies  there, 
not  knowing  that  he  is  a  victim  of  his  own  blindness." 

"You  are  awfully  hard  upon  poor  man,  doctor," 
said  Hannah,  smiling  sadly  and  shaking  her  head 
dolefully. 

"No,  indeed,"  denied  the  doctor.  "I  am  simply 
stating  a  fact." 

"Is  there  no  way  to  relieve  man  of  this  terrible 
blindness  you  have  described  ?"  asked  Hannah. 

"There  is  but  one." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"Love." 

"Love !"  exclaimed  Hannah.  "Why,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  so  blind  as  Love  f" 

"Such  an  understanding  of  Love  is  but  a  proof  of 
man's  blindness,"  said  the  doctor,  rising  from  his 
chair  and  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 
"There  is  naught  so  great  a  stranger  to  man  than 
Love." 


254  The  Success  of  Failure 

"What  is  this,  then,  that  humanity  calls  Love?" 

"An  exalted  self  or  one  of  the  emotions  of  the  in 
stinctive  animal.  In  other  words,  it  is  a  very  poor 
counterfeit  of  what  Love  really  is." 

"It  is  not  always  reliable,  that  is  true,"  agreed  Han 
nah.  "It  passes  so  often  away  with  youth,  and  leaves 
to  loneliness  the  remaining  years." 

"Ah,  no !  not  Love,"  said  the  doctor,  throwing  out  his 
hands  protestingly.  "Love  is  enduring,  faithful  and 
unchanging.  No  fickle  or  ephemeral  thing  is  he,  here 
today  and  gone  tomorrow,  but  his  presence  is  ever  as 
sured  and  certain,  and  is  as  necessary  to  man's  exist 
ence  as  the  light  from  the  sun  or  the  air  he  breathes." 

"If  this  be  true,"  asked  Hannah,  perplexed,  "how 
is  it  possible  that  man  remains  so  ignorant  of  his 
presence  ?" 

"Does  the  knowledge  that  the  sun  shines  in  the 
heavens  render  the  pathway  of  the  blind  any  clearer?" 

"No." 

"What  benefit,  then,  is  the  slumbering  fact  that  Love 
is  ready  and  willing  to  lead  humanity  in  the  way  of 
all-understanding,  if  it  shuts  its  eyes  and  will  not  see  ?" 

"But  what  of  the  consequences  ?  Surely,  if  man  can 
not  see,  he  must  lose  his  way." 

"That  is  true ;  he  loses  the  way  and  becomes  a  wan- 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      255 

derer  Hpon  the  earth ;  an  alien  not  only  to  his  brethren, 
but  also  to  himself." 

"An  alien  to  himself?"  repeated  Hannah,  puzzled. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"Because  he  knows  not  himself  and,  therefore,  can 
not  know  another." 

"'Am  I,  then,  a  stranger  to  my  child?" 

"You  are,  if  you  know  not  yourself.  No  matter  how 
close  the  human  relationship,  without  the  undimming 
light  of  Love,  there  can  be  no  real  knowledge  of  one's 
self  or  another.  The  eyes  must  be  opened." 

"Whether  my  eyes  are  opened  or  not,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  I  do  know  I  love  my  child,"  declared  Hannah 
stoutly. 

"Why  do  you  love  him?" 

"Because  he  is  mine." 

"And  for  no  other  reason  ?" 

"Is  there  any  other  greater  reason  that  I  can  give 
you?  He  is  all  I  have,  my  baby,  my  little,  blind  boy!" 

"Not  any  that  you  are  capable  of  understanding  at 
present,  at  any  rate.  However,  there  is  a  greater 
reason,  which  you  will  learn  as  the  years  go  by." 

"I  am  very  well  satisfied  with  the  one  I  have  given 
you." 

"That  is  because  your  eyes  are  not  opened." 


256  The  Success  of  Failure 

"And  I  don't  know  as  I  want  them  opened,  if  the 
opening  is  to  bring  a  knowledge  which  will  make  of 
my  mother-love  a  little  thing." 

"But  it  will  not  do  that.  Instead,  you  will  com 
prehend  and  appreciate  in  its  fulness  what  a  wonder 
fully  great  thing  it  is,  this  mother-love." 

"I  can't  see  how  that  can  possibly  be,  for  just  now 
it  is  great  and  big  enough  to  warm  and  brighten  every 
cold  and  dark  corner  of  my  life." 

"Ah !  but  then,  it  will  not  only  warm  and  brighten 
the  dark  corners  of  life,  it  will  banish  them." 

"You're  a  dreamer,"  replied  Hannah,  smiling. 

"And  my  dreams  will  come  true,"  and  the  words 
rang  clear  and  true,  defying  contradiction. 

"What  makes  you  think  so ?" 

"Because  I  know." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"You  would  not  understand  if  I  should  tell  you; 
therefore,  I  can  only  say,  I  do." 

"And  how  is  all  this  to  come  about?" 

"Through  my  marriage." 

"Through  your  marriage!"  repeated  Hannah  in 
credulously.  "What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Everything." 

"I  don't  understand.    Won't  you  explain?''" 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      257 

The  doctor  stopped  in  his  walk  and  again  took  his 
seat  at  his  desk.  He  regarded  Hannah  with  a  quizzi 
cal  smile  for  several  seconds,  and  then  he  said : 

"The  union,  which  took  place  between  the  lady  and 
myself  yesterday,  will  bring  about  a  happy  change  in 
the  affairs  of  men.  Unfortunately,  up  to  this  time, 
they  have  been  more  or  less  unhappy  and  disappoint 
ing,  owing  to  their  many  complications  and  to  the  fact 
that  their  direction  was  the  sole  and  uninterrupted 
concern  of  my  wife,  who,  although  willing,  was  totally 
unable  to  cope  with  their  growing  intricacies.  For  a 
long,  long  time  she  was  slow  to  realize  her  limitations 
and  believed  unquestioningly  in  her  ability  to  bring 
everything  out  right  and  all  things  would  eventually 
adjust  themselves  to  the  needs  of  man.  This  erroneous 
understanding  and  false  view  of  the  situation  at  last 
slowly  dawned  upon  her,  and  she  perceived,  to  her 
dismay  and  astonishment,  her  multiplying  difficulties. 
Even  so,  she  proudly  disdained  all  proffers  of  assist 
ance,  determining  to  overcome  them  alone ;  but,  in 
spite  of  her  perseverance  and  hard  work,  she  found, 
instead  of  diminishing,  they  increased,  and  the  'home- 
living  place'  which  she  hopes  to  establish  was  not  a 
success.  It " 

"Oh,  I  wonder  why  I  did  not  think  of  her !"  ex- 


258  The  Success  of  Failure 

claimed  Hannah  excitedly.     "So  it  is  Miss  Dorothy 
Richardson  whom  you  have  chosen  for  your  wife?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  one  of  his  altogether 
beautiful  smiles ;  "Miss  Dorothy  Richardson  and  I 
are  one." 

"Well,  you  are  to  be  congratulated.  She  is  such  an 
excellent  woman,  and  you — well,  I  can't  tell  you  what 
I  think  of  you." 

"You  will  not  object,  then,  to  remain  in  our  service?" 
"No,  indeed,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so." 
"Then  that  is  arranged,"  said  he,  rising.    "You  may 
begin  your  correspondence;  the  letters  are  all  marked 
for  reply." 

"Very  well,  doctor,"  replied  Hannah,  standing  up ; 
and,  picking  up  the  neat  pile  of  letters,  she  walked 
back  to  her  office.  The  click  of  the  latch  and  the 
closing  of  the  door  leading  into  the  hall  told  her  the 
doctor  had  gone ;  and,  standing  by  her  desk,  she  tried 
to  compose  her  mind  for  the  work  that  was  before  her. 
But  this  she  found  very  difficult,  for  the  marriage 
of  the  doctor,  although  decidedly  fortunate,  was  so 
surprising.  She  had,  in  some  way,  believed  he  would 
never  marry.  She  was  glad,  however,  for  one  thing — 
it  would  mean  no  change  in  her  life.  She  was  to  re 
main. 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      259 

Before  sitting  down  to  her  work,  she  took  from  a 
pocket  of  her  coat  a  letter  that  she  had  received  that 
morning  from  her  father  and  mother.  She  opened  it 
and  for  the  second  time  read  it  carefully,  and  then 
slowly  folded  it  and  put  it  back  in  her  pocket.  Very 
thoughtfully  she  sat  down  upon  her  chair  in  front  of 
her  desk. 

"Poor  little  Ronald,"  said  she,  softly  talking  to  her 
self,  while  a  tender  smile  played  about  her  lips,  "do 
they  think,  no  matter  how  great  the  inducement  of 
fered,  I  would  part  with  you?  Is  there  aught,  rather, 
I  would  not  give  up  for  you,  and  find  my  joy  and  de 
light  in  the  giving?  What  would  father,  mother,  or 
home  be  to  me  without  you,  my  little,  blind,  baby-boy  ? 
They  speak  of  the  disgrace  your  presence  would  bring 
to  them  in  their  old  age  and  ask  me  to  place  you  in 
other  hands  than  mine,  and  then  go  home  to  them. 
How  can  they  suggest  such  a  thing,  when  to  do  so 
would  mean  your  every  essential  deprivation?  They 
do  not  hesitate  to  recommend  that  I  place  upon  your 
tinv  head,  honey-boy,  the  consequence  of  my  wrong 
doing,  making  you  pay  the  price  of  what  they  deem 
my  disgrace  and  shame.  Never  mind,  little  man, 
mother  counts  the  shame  and  disgrace  as  naught  with 
the  pleasure  of  having  you.  What  cares  she  for  dis- 


260  The  Success  of  Failure 

grace  as  long  as  it  never  touches  you?  and  it  never 
will,  if  she  can  help  it.  Sometimes,  mother  is  glad 
you  are  blind,  son;  she  can  hold  you  the  longer  and 
tighter.  Nevertheless,  dear,  innocent  little  chap, 
mother  will  never  go  home  alone ;  when  she  goes,  you 
will  go  with  her.  Nay,  nay,  little  son,  our  four-room 
apartment  will  be  all  the  home  mother  will  ever  want, 
if  to  get  it  she  has  to  part  with  you —  But  there,  the 
tears  are  falling,  and  that  will  never  do ;  for  there  are 
a  lot  of  letters  in  front  of  mother  which  she  must 
answer  and  see  that  they  are  mailed.  So,  baby-mine, 
mother  must  stop  thinking  about  you  for  a  little  while 
and  get  to  work."  And,  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief,  Hannah  opened  her  desk. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  letters  were  all  answered  and 
she  placed  them  upon  the  doctor's  desk.  Then  she 
adjusted  her  cap  and  smoothed  her  hair  and  was  about 
to  wash  her  hands  when  the  door  opened  and  Dorothy, 
accompanied  by  her  husband,  came  into  the  room. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Thompson,"  said  Dorothy, 
walking  leisurely  over  to  where  Hannah  smilingly 
stood,  and  extended  her  hand. 

"Good-morning,  M — "  replied  Hannah  hesitatingly, 
her  hand  resting  for  an  instant  in  Dorothy's.  "How 
are  you  this  morning?" 


Hamiah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      261 

"Very  well.    And  you?" 

"I  can't  complain." 

"Well,"  after  an  embarrassing  silence  of  several  sec 
onds,  "why  don't  you  wish  me  happiness?"  asked  Dor 
othy,  looking  into  Hannah's  face  with  smiling  scrutiny, 
"for  your  face  expresses  only  too  surely  that  you  al 
ready  have  been  told  of  my  passing  from  single- 
blessedness  into  matrimonial  bliss." 

''Does  it?"  asked  Hannah,  laughing.  "I  didn't  know 
it  was  such  a  telltale.  I  must  exercise  greater  caution, 
or  it  will  be  betraying  me  when  I  least  wish  it  to.  In 
this  instance,  however,  I  cannot  plead  ignorance,  for 
Doctor  Ross  told  me  about  the  happy  event  shortly 
after  I  came  in  this  morning." 

"Oh,  you  awful  man,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  smile 
and  a  rebuking  shake  of  her  head  at  her  husband,  "to 
deprive  me  of  the  pleasure  of  proclaiming  to  one  and 
all  the  greatest  event  of  my  existence." 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  do  that,  Dorothy," 
said  the  doctor,  returning  her  smile.  "But  come,  let 
me  help  you  off  with  your  coat,"  and  stepping  to  her 
side  he  removed  from  her  shoulders  her  new  wedding- 
coat;  and,  when  she  had  replaced  the  pins  in  her  hat, 
he  took  it  from  her  and  hung  both  up  upon  the  rack. 
"Now,"  after  he  had  hung  up  his  own,  "I  will  look 


262  The  Success  of  Failure 

over  my  letters  and  then  we  will  make  arrangements 
to  leave  here  this  afternoon." 

"And  I  will  improve  the  opportunity  to  become  bet 
ter  acquainted  with  Miss  Thompson,"  said  Dorothy, 
establishing  herself  comfortably  in  one  of  the  doctor's 
big,  leather  armchairs.  "How  is  little  Ronald?"  asked 
she,  addressing  Hannah. 

"He  is  as  well  as  usual,"  replied  Hannah,  moving  a 
little  to  one  side  to  permit  the  doctor  to  reach  his 
desk. 

"And  I  trust  that  is  as  well  as  it  is  possible  for  him 
to  be.  But  why  not  sit  down  ?"  and  Dorothy  motioned 
with  her  hand  to  the  chair  opposite. 

Hannah  smiled  and  sat  down. 

"Now  let  us  talk  about  your  little  boy,"  said  Dor 
othy,  leaning  back  in  her  chair.  "I  am  afraid  you 
1  may  think  I  have  not  given  him  much  attention,  but 
I  can  assure  you  it  really  was  not  my  fault.  You 
see,  my  time  was  completely  taken  up  with  so  many 
other  things  I  deemed  of  greater  importance  that  the 
children  were  totally  neglected.  However,"  with  a 
bright  smile,  "I  hope  now  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  them,  and  they  and  I  will  begin  to  learn  of  each 
other.  It  is  strange,  isn't  it,"  mused  she,  "that  we 
grown-up  people  disdain  the  knowledge  to  be  gained 


Hanmh  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      263 

by  associating  with  the  child,  and  give  it  no  serious 
thought,  but  receive  it  with  more  or  less  indulgent 
amusement  ?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Hannah,  "we  are  not  apt  to  consider 
it  of  much  importance,  and  prefer  to  regard  the  sav 
ings  and  doings  of  children  as  little  better  than  the 
murmurings  and  antics  of  other  delightful  little  ani 
mals/' 

"Well,  I  want  to  learn  all  that  your  little  son  can 
teach  me,  for  in  the  ways  of  children  I  am  woefully 
ignorant,  and  I  am  very  desirous  that  he  and  I,  as 
the  days  go  by,  shall  become  the  best  of  friends." 

"Thank  you,"  murmured  Hannah,  striving  to  over 
come  a  growing  nervousness,  herebefore  wholly  un 
known  to  her.  "I  am  sure  he  will  appreciate  your 
friendship.  You  will  not  expect  too  much  of  him. 
will  you?  for  you  know,  poor  little  chap,  he  is  blind." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  and  Dorothy  sighed. 

"They  are  all  ready  now  for  enclosing,"  remarked 
the  doctor,  rising  from  his  desk. 

"Very  well,  I  will  attend  to  them  at  once,"  replied 
Hannah ;  and,  getting  up  from  her  chair,  she  took  the 
letters  from  the  desk  and  disappeared  with  them  into 
her  office,  closing  the  door  gently  behind  her. 

"And  so  you  were  talking  about  Hannah's  boy," 
said  the  doctor  to  his  wife. 


264  The  Success  of  Failure 

''Yes,  isn't  it  too  bad  he  is  blind?" 

"Yes,  but  he  will  not  continue  to  be  so/* 

"No?"  queried  Dorothy,  surprised.  "It  is  possible, 
then,  that  some  day  he  may  see  ?" 

"Quite." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  Does  his  mother  know  ?  Have 
you  told  her?" 

"All  that  she  is  capable  of  understanding  at 
present." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"I  told  her  under  certain  conditions  he  would  re 
ceive  his  sight." 

"And  what  are  they?" 

"Those  which  shall  come  from  our  union,  Dorothy. 
Not  only  will  they  remove  little  Ronald's  blindness, 
but  will  make  impossible  the  blindness  of  every  child 
born  into  the  world." 

"Will  it,  indeed,  do  that?" 

"It  will,  indeed,"  replied  the  doctor,  seating  himself 
in  the  chair  that  Hannah  had  vacated. 

Just  then  the  bell  announcing  the  midday  meal  rang 
clear  and  loud  from  the  foot  of  the  basement  steps. 
The  doctor  and  his  wife  made  no  movement  to  indi 
cate  that  they  intended  to  respond  to  its  summons. 
Instead,  they  sat  quietly  talking;  and  Hannah,  when 
she  opened  the  door  of  her  office  a  few  minutes  later 


Hannah  Learns  of  the  Doctor's  Marriage      265 

was  surprised  to  find  them  sitting  there.  When  the 
bell  rang,  she  thought,  of  course,  they  would  go  right 
down  to  luncheon. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  here,"  she  said,  going 
to  the  bowl  to  wash  her  hands.  "I  thought  you  would 
be  downstairs." 

"No;  we  are  waiting  for  you,"  replied  the  doctor, 
smilingly  raising  his  head.  "As  I  have  ceased  to  be 
a  lodger  and  am  now  a  part  of  the  'home-living  place/ 
it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  take  your  meals  there, 
also.  So  while  we  are  getting  ready  to  go  over,  put 
on  your  hat  and  coat.  Leave  everything  as  it  is,  here, 
for  I  have  instructed  John  to  take  charge." 

Hannah  hastened  to  do  his  bidding,  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  "home- 
living  place." 


CHAPTER  XX 


"VY/HAT'S  going  on  here?"  ased  Mrs.  Thompson, 

W  very  much  surprised,  of  Martha,  who  ad 
mitted  her  into  the  little  flat.  "Looks  very  much  as 
though  my  daughter  intended  to  move/'  gravely  re 
garding  the  pieces  of  furniture  and  boxes  which  occu 
pied  nearly  the  entire  space  of  the  narrow  hall. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Martha,  closing  the  door. 

"Is  Miss  Hannah  in?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  she's  inside,"  and  Martha  indicated  by 
a  nod  of  her  head  the  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

"Very  well,  I'll  find  her,"  and  Mrs.  Thompson 
began  slowly  to  make  her  way  down  the  crowded 
passageway. 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  and  Martha  went  back  to  her 
packing  in  the  kitchen. 

When  Mrs.  Thompson  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
room,  she  stopped  and  glanced  uneasily  at  the  bare 
floor  and  walls  and  the  furniture,  pushed  to  one  side 

266 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  207 

of  the  room,  all  ready  for  the  moving-van.  Hannah's 
back  was  to  her;  she  was  kneeling  upon  the  floor  in 
front  of  a  trunk  in  which  she  was  packing  Ronald's 
clothes,  which  lay  piled  up  on  a  chair  beside  her.  Her 
mother's  step  upon  the  bare  boards,  however,  caused 
her  to  turn  her  head,  and  with  an  exclamation  of  de 
light  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  rushed  to  meet  her. 
saying : 

"Why,  mother,  what  good  wind  brought  you  here 
today?" 

"I'm  not  sure  whether  it  was  a  good  or  a  bad  wind." 
replied  her  mother,  bending  her  head  to  receive  Han 
nah's  kiss.  "I'll  tell  you  better  about  that  after  you 
have  told  me  the  meaning  of  this."  and  she  indicated 
with  a  ware  of  her  hand  the  dismantled  room. 

"We  are  going  to  move,  mother,  that's  all,"  replied 
her  daughter,  stepping  back  and  gathering  up  in  her 
arms  the  clothing  lying  qn  the  chair  and  placing  it 
over  the  open  top  of  the  trunk.  "Come,  sit  here.'' 
wiping  with  her  apron  the  dust  from  the  chair,  "and 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  won't  ask  you  to  take  off 
your  hat,  for  there  is  no  place  to  put  it  where  it  will 
be  safer  than  upon  your  head." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  very  well  satisfied  here/' 
said  her  mother  as  she  sat  down.  "Where  is  Ronald?" 


268  The  Success  of  Failure 

"He  is  over  with  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Ross,"  replied 
Hannah,  kneeling  down  upon  the  floor  and  resuming 
her  packing.  "You  remember,  I  told  you  of  his  mar 
riage  in  my  last  letter." 

"Yes ;  and  has  it  turned  out  as  happily  as  ex 
pected  ?" 

"So  far  it  has  fulfilled  every  expectation." 

"That's  encouraging.  And,  apparently,  they  do  not 
object  to  the  unfortunate  circumstances  connected  with 
Ronald's  birth." 

"Not  at  all.  For  them,  they  do  not  exist,  and  he  is 
only  too  happy  when  permitted  to  be  with  them." 

"I  wish  I  might  have  him,"  said  Mrs.  Thompson, 
sighing  regretfully ;  "but  it  is  no  use  thinking  of  such 
a  thing,  for  your  father  will  not  consent." 

"It's  just  as  well,  perhaps,"  replied  Hannah  thought 
fully. 

"Perhaps  so.  But  you  have  not  told  me  anything 
of  your  proposed  new  location.  It  is,  of  course,  more 
desirable  than  what  you  have  here,  or  else  you  would 
not  have  moved." 

"It  is,  indeed." 

"And  your  expenses — they  will  be  greater,  I  sup 
pose  ?" 

"I  can't  say  that  thev  will.    You  see,  I  have  decided 

/ 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  269 

to  move  to  the  'home-living  place/  established  by  Doc 
tor  and  Mrs.  Ross,  and  they  are  to  be  responsible  for 
any  expense  I  may  incur/' 

"Do  you  think  that  altogether  wise?" 

"I  do.  In  fact  it  is  the  only  wise  thing  I  have  ever 
done  in  my  life.  Oh,  mother,"  said  Hannah,  laying  a 
hand  upon  her  mother's  knee  and  looking  up  earnestly 
into  her  face,  "if  you  only  knew  the  beautiful  condi 
tions  prevailing  in  their  'home-living  place/  the  thing 
that  would  astonish  you  the  most  would  be  that  any 
one  could  hesitate  to  become  a  part  of  it !  No  greater 
foundation  can  be  found  than  that  upon  which  it  is 
built,  the  imperishable  and  everlasting  foundation  of 
Love  and  Service/' 

"And  do  you  think  you  will  be  happy  there?"  asked 
her  mother,  with  a  tender  smile,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
affectionately  upon  her  daughter's  head. 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it;  for,  if  happiness  is  to  be 
found  anywhere,  it  must  be  found  there/' 

"I  should  want  to  be  very  sure  of  it,  my  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Thompson,  smiling  gravely,  "for  the  promises 
which  lead  us  into  the  pursuit  of  happiness  are  very 
slow  of  fulfillment." 

"That  is  true,  mother,"  agreed  Hannah,  "but  I  have 
learned,  by  painful  experience,  it  is  because  we  follow 


2/o  The  Success  of  Failure 

the  formulating  of  our  own  selfish  promises  in  the  false 
pursuit  of  happiness.  Happiness,  I  have  found,  is  no 
elusive  thing,  now  here,  then  there,  and  then  else 
where.  She  does  not  seek  to  deceive  nor  to  betray,  a 
thing  of  yesterday  and  not  of  today.  Something  that 
steals  away  when  tomorrow's  here,  leaving  all  stricken, 
stark  and  drear.  No,  no,  happiness  is  ever  faithful  and 
true,  and  it  is  we  who  are  faithless,  it  is  we  who  are 
untrue  to  ourselves  and  to  her." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Thompson  sighing.  "But  what  of  Martha?" 

"She  will  go  with  me.  Indeed,  she  belongs  there, 
for  has  she  not,  these  many  years,  lived  daily  the  life 
of  the  'home-living  place'  ?  The  conditions  which  exist 
there  will  cause  her  no  wonderment  nor  be  to  her  at 
all  strange.  She  will  be  perfectly  at  home  with  sur 
roundings  which  to  me  are  as  equally  indescribable  as 
they  are  incomprehensible.  While  I  can  admire  and 
marvel,  I  am  unable  to  fully  understand  or  appreciate 
the  working  of  the  forces  employed.  And  yet,  Doctor 
Ross  says  they  are  so  simple  they  are  understood  by  the 
child." 

"Your  lack  of  understanding  is  not  surprising,  then, 
for  is  it  not  the  simple  things  of  life  which  confound 
us?"  queried  Mrs.  Thompson.  "But  go  on  with  your 
packing." 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  271 

'•Before  I  do,"  said  Hannah,  rising,  "I'll  tell  Martha 
to  make  us  a  cup  of  tea.  It  must  be  nearly  lunch- 
time.  Is  it  ?"  as  Mrs.  Thompson  looked  at  her  watch. 

"Just  twelve." 

"I  thought  so,"  and  Hannah  hurried  out. 

Almost  immediately  she  was  back,  and,  as  she 
chatted  with  her  mother,  finished  packing  the  trunk, 
and  when  Martha  came  in  with  the  tea,  it  stood  closed 
and  locked  and  ready  for  strapping. 

"When  we  have  finished  our  tea,  I'll  put  on  my  hat 
and  coat  and  we'll  go  over  and  see  Ronald,"  said  Han 
nah  as  she  took  the  tray  from  Martha  and  set  it  upon 
the  top  of  the  trunk.  "That  is  all,  Martha,"  turning 
with  a  smile  to  the  waiting  bent  figure,  "you  may  go," 
and,  with  a  nod  of  her  grizzled  head,  Martha  turned 
and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

"Are  you  not  afraid  the  doctor  and  his  wife  may 
regard  it  as  rather  an  intrusion?"  questioned  Mrs. 
Thompson,  as  she  unfolded  the  paper  napkin  Hannah 
placed  upon  her  lap. 

"No  indeed,  they  will  both  be  glad  to  see  you,  and 
I  am  very  anxious  that  you  should  meet  them,"  and 
Hannah  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea  and  handed  it  to  her 
mother.  "Here,  I'll  place  the  cream  and  sugar  on  the 
trunk  right  near  you,  so  von  may  help  yourself.  I 


272  The  Success  of  Failure 

know  the  service  is  novel  and  not  at  all  what  you  are 
accustomed  to,  but  you  will  pardon  it  in  this  instance." 

"Don't  mention  it,  my  child ;  I'm  only  too  glad  to  be 
with  you,"  and  Mrs.  Thompson  took  between  her  fore 
finger  and  thumb  a  lump  of  sugar  and  dropped  it  into 
her  tea,  and  then  poured  sufficient  cream  from  the 
pitcher  to  color  it. 

"Then  you  won't  object  to  eating  your  sandwich 
from  the  trunk,  also,"  and  Hannah  placed  a  small  plate 
upon  which  was  laid  two  thinly  sliced  pieces  of  bread 
and  butter  enclosing  crisp  lettuce  leaves. 

"\To.  it's  all  right.  Don't  bother  about  me,  I'll  help 
myself.  Now,  to  get  back  to  Ronald,  if  you  think  it 
wise  I  should  dearly  love  to  go  over  and  see  him." 

"And  are  you  not  anxious,  after  all  I  have  told  you, 
to  see  the  doctor  and  his  wife?"  asked  Hannah  dis 
appointedly. 

"Not  so  anxious  to  see  them  as  I  am  to  learn  some 
thing  of  this  liome-living  place'  they  have  established. 
But  that  is  only  because  vou  are  about  to  make  it  vour 
home ;  otherwise,  I  should  not  be  at  all  interested." 

"After  you  have  learned  something  about  it  you  may 
wish  to  make  it  vour  home,"  said  Hannah,  laughing. 
"And  what  would  father  sav  about  that?" 

"He  would  never  permit  it." 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  273 

"He  might  not  be  able  to  prevent  it,"  said  Hannah 
as  she  lifted  the  teapot  from  the  tray.  "Have  another 
cup  of  tea  and  another  sandwich  ?" 

"No,  no,  nothing  more.  If  I  am  to  see  much  of 
Ronald,  we  must  go  over  to  the  doctor's  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  I  have  to  leave  for  home  shortly  after 
three." 

"We  will  go  right  away,"  said  Hannah,  rising  and 
taking  from  the  wardrobe  her  coat  and  hat,  which  she 
quickly  put  on.  "If  I  had  knowrn  you  were  coming,  I 
wouldn't  have  had  these  things  put  in  the  hall,"  said 
she,  as  she  opened  the  door  of  the  apartment  and  pre 
ceded  her  mother  out. 

"If  you  can  put  up  with  the  inconvenience,  I  am 
sure  I  should  not  object,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  fol 
lowing  her  daughter  down  the  stairs. 

Hannah  laughed  happily,  and  her  mother's  heart 
gladdened  at  the  sound.  Ah!  if  it  rested  with  her, 
Hannah  and  her  baby  should  seek  no  other  "home- 
living  place"  but  hers.  She  would  close  the  door  upon 
the  world  and  live  only  for  them.  What  cared  she 
for  money  or  position?  They  were  nothing  in  com 
parison  with  the  companionship,  of  which  they  de 
prived  her,  of  her  daughter  and  her  child.  Gladly 
would  she  dispense  with  the  former,  if  she  could  but 


274  The  Success  of  Failure 

have  the  latter.  And  as  she  thought  of  her  husband, 
her  heart  hardened  toward  him.  He  had  asked  her 
that  morning  before  leaving  home  to  try  and  prevail 
upon  Hannah  to  give  up  her  child.  "Surely,"  he  had 
said,  "there  are  plenty  of  places  in  a  large  city  where 
a  child  would  be  well  cared  for,  for  pay."  How  stub 
bornly  he  had  refused  to  listen  to  her  pleadings  that 
they  permit  Hannah  to  bring  her  baby  home,  thunder 
ing  out  at  her :  "No !  no !  I  say,  no !  Don't  speak  of 
that  again  to  me  !'*  Well,  she  would  never  ask  Hannah 
to  give  up  her  child,  never,  never !  If  her  father  was 
so  blind  that  he  could  not  see  that  they  were  responsible 
for  their  child  and  what  was  hers,  she  could  and  would. 
And  when  they  climbed  the  steps  leading  into  the 
"home-living  place/'  she  did  so  with  no  feeling  of 
shrinking  from  a  disagreeable  task.  This  was  to  be  her 
daughter's  home  and  the  home  of  her  child;  and,  UM 
that  reason,  she  would  try  to  understand  and  appreci 
ate  the  forces  at  work  here.  When  they  reached  the 
top  step,  the  door  opened,  and  Doctor  Ross,  with  hand 
extended,  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Thompson,"  he 
said,  looking  smilingly  from  Hannah  to  her  mother. 
"Come  right  in,"  and  he  took  Mrs.  Thompson's  hand 
and  gently  drew  her  through  the  entrance,  along  the 


Mrs,  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  275 

hall  and  into  the  large  room  of  the  "home-living  place/' 
"Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  and  he  led  her  to  a  comfortable 
seat  not  far  from  the  door.  "My  wife  will  bring  Ron 
ald,  whom  you  are  longing  to  see,  I  know,  in  pres- 
entlv." 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  and  your  wife  to  take  so 
great  an  interest  in  my  little  grandson."  replied  Mrs.- 
Thompson  as  she  sat  down.  "I  assure  you  I  fully  ap 
preciate  it." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  he.  Then  turning  to  where 
Hannah  stood,  he  directed  her  with  a  motion  of  his 
hand  to  an  open  door  on  the  right,  to  which  she 
hastened  her  steps.  "I  think,  though."  resuming  the 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Thompson  as  he  stepped  to  a 
chair  a  few  feet  from  her  and  sat  down,  "it  would  be 
rather  remarkable  if  we  were  not  interested  in  the 
little  fellow,  for  we  love  him  and  he  is  growing  to 
love  us." 

"That  is  fortunate/'  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  her 
eyes  scanning  the  doctor's  face  closely,  "for,  I  believe, 
he  and  his  mother  expect  to  make  their  home  here." 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  to  say.  their  home  is  to  be  here." 

Just  then  their  attention  was  attracted  to  the  opening- 
wide  of  the  door  of  the  room  on  the  right,  and  Ronald, 
accompanied  by  his  mother  and  Dorothy,  came  out 


276  The  Success  of  Failure 

and  directed  their  steps  to  where  they  were  sitting.  As 
they  approached  within  a  short  distance  of  him,  the 
doctor  arose  and,  stepping  forward,  stooped  and  picked 
up  the  child  and  held  him  in  his  arms.  This,  apparent 
ly,  was  no  strange  place  for  Ronald  to  be,  nor  was  he 
averse  to  being  held  there  ;  for  he  unhesitatingly  placed 
his  baby-arms  around  the  doctor's  neck  and  laid  his 
head  confidingly  against  his  shoulders. 

"Were  you  talking  to  g'andmother,  doctor?"  asked 
he,  putting  up  a  tiny  hand  to  pat  the  doctor's  cheek. 

"Yes,  and  I  am  going  to  carry  you  over  and  place 
you  upon  her  lap,  so  you,  too,  may  talk  to  her" ;  and, 
kissing  the  child's  sunny  hair,  the  doctor  walked  over 
and  gave  him  into  his  grandmother's  outstretched  arms. 

"And  how  is  Ronald?"  asked  Mrs.  Thompson,  her 
arms  closing  around  the  little  form.  "And  is  my  little 
man  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

"I  am  quite  well  and  vewy  glad  to  see  you.  g'and 
mother.  Are  you  well  and  glad  to  see  me  ?"  asked  he, 
gravely  holding  up  his  little  blind  face  to  be  kissed. 

"Grandmother  is  well,  darling,  and  is  ever  and  ever 
so  ,elad  to  see  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  her  arms 
tightening  around  the  child  as  she  drew  him  closer 
to  her. 

"Mother,"  interposed  Hannah  from  where  she  stood 


Mrs.  l  hompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  277 

between  the  doctor  and  his  wife  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  watching  with  shining  eyes  and  trembling,  smil 
ing  lips  the  meeting  between  her  mother  and  baby-son, 
"you  have  not  met  Mrs.  Ross." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  and  she 
raised  her  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  child  and  looked 
over,  with  an  apologetic  smile,  to  where  Dorothy  stood. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Dorothy,  stepping 
quickly  over  to  Mrs.  Thompson's  side,  "and  I  want  to 
bid  you  welcome  to  the  'home-living  place.'  v 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  taking  the 
hand  Dorothy  extended,  "I  am  beginning  to  feel  very 
much  at  home." 

"It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  hear  you  say  so,"  re 
plied  Dorothy,  sitting  down  on  a  nearby  stool,  "and  I 
hope,  some  day,  you  may  decide  to  become  a  part  of 
this  wonderfully  beautiful  thing  we  have  established." 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Thompson,  with  a 
doubtful  shake  of  her  head.  "Not  as  long  as  my 
husband  lives,  anyway,  for  he,  I  know,  would  never 
sanction  it." 

"No?"  queried  Dorothy.  "What  would  be  his  ob 
jection  ?" 

"Well,  it  would  necessitate  the  abandonment  of  his 
pride  of  position,  of  his  wealth,  of  a  hundred  and  one 
things  he  holds  and  prizes  dearly." 


278  The  Success  of  Failure 

"Oh,  you  never  can  tell,"  said  Dorothy  encouraging 
ly;  "he  may  be  made  to  see,  as  I  have  been,  the  folly 
of  such  pride,  and  be  willing,  as  I  now  am,  to  let  Love 
have  his  way." 

"I  see  you  are  quite  ignorant  of  how  greatly  pride 
influences  people  in  my  station  of  life." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  replied  Dorothy  slowly.  "But 
I  am  learning,  little  by  little,  what  a  small  thing  it  is 
and  how  cruelly  indifferent  it  is  to  the  best  interests 
of  man." 

Mrs.  Thompson's  response  was  a  wrinkled  forehead, 
a  puzzled  smile  and  a  mystified  shake  of  the  head,  and 
she  placed  Ronald  more  comfortably  upon  her  lap 
and  laid  his  head  gently  against  her  breast. 

At  this,  Dorothy's  eyes  traveled  in  wistful  inquiry 
over  to  where  her  husband  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  He,  with  Hannah,  had  been  a  silent  listener  to 
their  conversation.  As  his  eyes  met  hers,  he  read 
aright  the  message  they  conveyed,  and  in  his  smile  and 
nod  there  was  not  only  acquiescence,  but  comprehen 
sion  as  well.  She  needed  him,  and  he  only  could  re 
spond  to  that  need.  So  saying  a  few  words  in  a  low 
tone  to  Hannah,  which  caused  her  to  immediately 
leave  him  and  take  up  a  position  behind  her  mother's 
chair,  he  quickly  crossed  the  room  and  drew  up  a  chair 
to  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Thompson  and  sat  down. 
The  conversation  then  became  general. 


Mrs.  Thompson  Gets  a  Glimpse  of  the  "Place"  279 

The  hour  thus  spent  conversing  with  the  doctor  and 
his  wife  was  not  only  a  particularly  agreeable  one  to 
Mrs.  Thompson,  but  she  found  it  also  highly  instruc 
tive  ;  for,  in  that  short  time,  she  acquired  a  knowledge 
hitherto  unpossessed  by  her,  and  one  she  deemed  of 
no  mean  value.  Just  what  its  valuation  might  be,  she 
was  not  quite  able  to  determine,  nor  to  interpret  cor 
rectly  its  intrinsic  worth :  but,  measured  by  a  mother's 
love,  it  was  to  her  incalculable,  for  it  enabled  her  to 
conclude  that  Hannah  and  her  boy  could  not  have 
fallen  into  better  hands  than  into  those  of  the  founders 
of  the  "home-living  place."  And  it  was  with  a  mind  re 
lieved  and  a  heart  lightened  that  she  kissed  them  and 
bade  them  goodby  and  started  on  her  journey  home 
ward. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FRANK,  RESTORED  TO  HEALTH,  LEAVES  THE  HOSPITAL  OF 
THE   NEW   BIRTH 

IT  was  shortly  after  the  marriage  of  Dorothy  and 
Doctor  Ross,  that  Frank — wholly  cured  and  re 
stored  to  perfect  health  and  strength — accompanied  by 
the  doctor,  passed  out  through  the  doors  of  the  Hos 
pital  of  The  New  Birth. 

As  he  walked  down  the  steps  and  entered  the  doc 
tor's  automobile,  it  would  be  difficult  for  anyone  who 
had  been  familiar  with  Frank's  face  and  form  before 
his  admission  into  the  hospital  to  recognize  them  now ; 
for,  in  place  of  the  bent,  stooping  shoulders,  the  re 
luctant  and  faltering  step  and  the  hesitation  of  an  evi 
dently  discouraged  and  dejected  manhood,  there  was 
the  erect  carnage,  the  firm,  quick  step  and  the  ex 
pressed  and  unquestioned  assurance  in  face  and  man 
ner  of  man's  right  to  be  and  do.  Youth  at  its  best 
was  his ;  and,  as  one  beheld  him  in  all  the  newness  of 
life,  it  was  to  conclude  that  for  him  to  live  was  indeed 
yvell worth  while;  for  he  was  good  to  look  upon.  The 

280. 


Frank  Leaves  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth    281 

tones  of  his  voice,  as  he  conversed  with  the  doctor, 
the  light  of  his  eyes  and  the  smooth,  unwrinkled  brow, 
all  proclaimed  a  regenerated  manhood — that  man,  at 
last,  had  come  into  his  own — into  a  kingdom  whose 
every  breath  was  fragrant  with  the  joy  of  being, 
whose  sight  was  of  an  infinite  seeing  and  in  all  of  its 
doings  there  was  a  wonderful  meaning. 

On  their  way  homeward,  Doctor  Ross  spoke  of  his 
marriage  to  Dorothy  and  dwelt  largely  upon  the 
changes  it  would  make  in  the  "home-living  place,"  all  of 
which  interested  Frank  immensely,  and  he  remarked 
when  the  doctor  had  finished  speaking : 

"Ah,  now  it  will  be  a  'home-living  place,'  indeed !" 

"But  we  must  consider  you,"  said  the  doctor,  laying 
a  hand  affectionately  upon  Frank's  shoulder.  "Now 
that  you  are  well  and  strong,  what  work  shall  I  assign 
you  to  in  the  'home-living  place  ?'  " 

"The  seeking  of  patients,"  promptly  replied  Frank 
with  a  smile,  "for,  I  can  assure  you,  there  is  no  other 
work  I  should  so  greatly  enjoy." 

"There  is  none  other  so  important,"  returned  the 
doctor,  "excepting  the  finding,  and  that  is  assured  if 
one  seeks  aright." 

"And  I,  now  being  in  my  right  mind,  shall  seek 
aright,"  replied  Frank,  the  light  of  his  eyes  being  ex- 


282  The  Success  of  Failure 

ceedingly  tender  as  he  looked  thoughtfully  into  the 
distance. 

"Yes,  there  is  no  doubt,  now,  but  that  you  will," 
replied  the  doctor,  bestowing  upon  Frank  one  of  his 
beautiful  smiles.  "However,  here  we  are,"  and  the 
car  drew  up  at  the  curb.  "The  'home-living  place'  is 
just  where  you  left  it,  you  see,"  and  the  doctor  rose 
and  stepped  out  upon  the  sidewalk. 

"Yes,  but  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  find  it  quite  a 
different  place,"  replied  Frank,  getting  out  and  follow 
ing  the  doctor  up  the  steps. 

"Somewhat,  yes,"  said  the  doctor  as  he  pushed  the 
door  open  and  held  it  so  for  Frank  to  enter.  "Never 
theless,  if  it  is  to  steadily  and  unquestionably  improve, 
your  co-operative  assistance  is  an  absolute  necessity. 
Isn't  that  so,  my  dear  ?"  said  he  to  his  wife,  who  was 
standing  at  the  door  to  greet  them. 

"It  certainly  is,"  replied  she,  holding  up  her  face 
to  receive  her  husband's  kiss.  Then  turning  to  Frank 
with  a  friendly  smile,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  and 
said: 

"How-do-you-do,  Mr.  Thompson,  or  Frank,  as  Bob 
has  told  me  to  call  you.  I  am  very  glad  to  welcome  you 
back  to  the  'home-living  place.'  " 

"Thank  you,"  he  replied,  taking  her  hand  and  press- 


Frank  Leaves  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth    283 

ing  it  gently,  "it  is  good  to  get  back,"  and  releasing 
her  hand  he  closed  the  door  and  followed  them  up  the 
hall.  Upon  coming  to  the  door  of  his  room,  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  knob  and  was  about  to  turn  it,  when 
Dorothy,  turning  her  head  quickly,  interposed  with, 
"Not  yet,  there  is  someone  else  in  there  who  would 
like  to  see  you,"  and  with  a  pretty  movement  of  her 
head  she  indicated  a  room,  at  the  entrance  of  which 
the  hall  ended. 

"Indeed,"  said  he ;  and,  removing  his  hand  from  the 
krob,  he  continued  on. 

"And  we,  Dorothy,"  said  the  doctor,  placing  his  arm 
about  her,  "will  go  in  here,"  and  he  opened  the  door 
of  the  room  on  the  right. 

\Yhen  Frank  entered  the  room,  Hannah  was  seated 
on  a  chair  talking  to  her  boy  who  was  standing  by  her 
knee.  She  arose  as  he  addressed  her  and  came  forward. 

"So,  at  last,  you  are  back,"  said  she,  and  they  shook 
hands  warmly.  "It  seems  such  a  long,  long  time  since 
you  went  away.  But  my."  stepping  back  and  regard 
ing  him  wonderingly  and  with  not  a  little  curiosity, 
"you  have  improved.  So  much  so,  I  should  not  have 
known  you  had  I  met  you  elsewhere.  What  great 
miracle  caused  so  great  a  change  in  you?" 

"The  passing  away  of  the  old  man  and  the  coming 
of  the  new." 


284  The  Success  of  Failure 

"And  do  you  think  it  possible  so  great  a  change 
could  be  brought  about  in  me?" 

"Indeed,  I  do." 

"Ah,  but  then  I  should  have  to  leave  Ronald,"  and 
she  put  out  her  hand  and  took  one  of  the  little  hands 
held  out  in  self-protecting  fashion  as  the  child  felt  his 
way  to  his  mother. 

Frank  smiled  tenderly  down  upon  the  little  chap. 

"Yes,"  said  he;  "but  the  treatment  accorded  you 
would  be,  to  him,  a  priceless  inheritance." 

"But  what  is  the  treatment  ?" 

"To  know  that,  you  must  experience  it." 

"Well,  would  you  recommend  it?" 

"I  certainly  would,  for  it  is  the  only  remedy  that 
produces  a  cure." 

"I  would  like  to  try  it,"  said  she  thoughtfully,  and 
she  sat  down  upon  a  chair  and  took  her  boy  upon  her 
lap ;  "and  the  only  thing  that  makes  me  hesitate  is  this 
little  man  of  mine,"  and  bending  her  head  she  kissed 
the  soft  curls. 

"I  will  stay  with  Mart'a,  mother,"  said  the  child, 
raising  his  baby-face  with  its  large,  sightless,  blue  eyes ; 
and,  putting  a  little  hand  up,  he  patted  her  cheek 
gently. 

"And  she  would  take  good  care  of  you,  I  know, 


Frank  Leaves  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth    28,5 

little  son.  But  mother,  somehow,  cannot  bear  to 
leave  her  boy,  even  for  a  little  while,"  and  she  pressed 
the  child  closely  to  her. 

"But  mother  must  leave  him,  some  day,"  said  Frank 
gently,  sitting  down  upon  a  chair  a  few  feet  away, 
"and  when  she  goes,  she  surely  wants  to  leave  him 
something  infinitely  greater  and  of  more  importance 
than  the  remembrance  of  her  presence.  She  wants.  I 
am  sure,  to  leave  him  with  a  sight  restored  that  he 
may  tread  the  roadway  of  life  fearlessly,  with  no 
thought  of  stumbling  or  falling;  and  that,  as  he  ap 
proaches  manhood,  his  questioning,  faltering  step 
may  be  firm  and  assured,  and  his  changing  weaknesses 
become  an  unalterable  strength." 

"Ah,  if  that  could  be  possible !"  sighed  Hannah. 

"It  is  possible." 

"How?" 

"There  is  but  one  way,"  replied  Frank  earnestly, 
"and  that  is  your  entrance  into  the  Hospital  of  The 
New  Birth.  Old  things  must  pass  away,  if  you  would 
have  all  things  become  new.  Inherited  social  weak 
nesses  must  be  replaced  by  inherited  social  strength, 
if  the  children  are  to  see  and  know  the  way  wherein 
they  should  walk.  There  will,  then,  be  no  more  se^k- 
ing  for  the  many  pathways  which  are  now  believed  to 


286  The  Success  of  Failure 

lead  to  life,  for  all  will  know  there  is  but  the  one,  and 
to  it  the  children's  steps  will  be  directed." 

"And  who  will  be  a  mother  to  my  boy  while  I  am 
gone?''  asked  Hannah  with  a  trembling  smile  as  she 
placed  the  child's  sunny  head  against  her  breast. 

"Mart'a  will  take  care  of  me,  mother,"  said  Ronald 
sleepily,  his  baby -mouth  opening  wide  into  a  yawn. 

''Rut  Martha  isn't  mother,  darling.  But,  never 
mind,"  as  his  head  began  to  slowly  drop  backwards 
from  her  breast  to  her  arm,  "go  to  sleep,"  replied  Han 
nah,  accompanying  her  words  with  a  rocking,  sooth 
ing  motion  of  her  knees.  Then  putting  a  finger  upon 
her  lips,  she  looked  over  smilingly  at  Frank  and  then 
down  at  her  sleepy  boy.  Frank  smiled  and  nodded  un- 
derstandingly,  and  they  sat  quietly  and  silently  wait 
ing  for  the  little  fellow  to  go  to  sleep. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  in  a  very  little  while 
Ronald  was  sound  asleep;  and  Hannah  straightened 
out  his  clothes,  with  that  tender  lingering  touch 
mothers  have,  and  was  about  to  rise,  when  Frank 
hastily  sprang  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his  arms  for 
the  sleeping  child. 

"No,  no,"  said  she  softly,  "he  might  wake,"  and, 
rising,  she  carried  him  over  to  a  couch  on  one  side 
of  the  room  and  laid  him  down.  Then,  after  placing 


Frank  Leaves  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth    287 

a  light  covering  over  him,  she  leaned  lovingly  over  and 
touched  her  lips  to  his  hair.  "Now  we  may  resume 
our  conversation."  whispered  she,  as  she  straightened 
up  and  walked  back  to  her  chair  and  sat  down. 

"And  so  it  is  the  leaving  of  your  child  that  makes 
you  hesitate  to  avail  yourself  of  the  many  benefits  to 
be  derived  from  a  treatment  at  the  Hospital  of  The 
New  Birth  ?"  asked  Frank  in  a  low  tone. 

''Yes.  He  is  all  I  have,  you  know.  He  is  my  world. 
A  pretty  small  and  unimportant  one  to  others,  no 
doubt,  but,  to  me,  he  is  all  of  the  worlds  rolled  into 
one." 

"I  see,'1  replied  Frank  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  thought 
fully  upon  the  floor.  "But  have  you  taken  into  con 
sideration  that  your  deprivation  is  his  also :  and  that 
you  cannot  impart  unto  him  a  knowledge  greater  than 
you  possess?" 

"That  is  very  true,  and  I  am  afraid  T  have  con 
sidered  little  else  than  the  fact  that  he  is  mine!  all 
mine!  and  belongs  to  no  one  else,"  replied  Hannah,  a 
sweet  smile  plavingf  about  her  lips.  "And,"  emphati 
cally.  "I  am  selfishlv  glad  to  know  that  this  is  true." 

"But  is  it  true?''  asked  Frank,  raising  his  eyes  and 
regarding  Hannah  questioningly.  "That  mothers 
thoujrbtlesslv  boast  of  it.  I  know,  failing:  to  realize,  in 


288  The  Success  of  Failure 

their  vain  human  joy  and  pride,  how  really  frail  is 
their  hold  upon  their  vaunted  possession.  So  scrupu 
lously  careful  are  they  of  the  material  casket,  seeing 
that  it  is  kept  clean,  properly  dressed  and  fed,  that 
they  forget  that  within  is  a  hidden  chamber,  the  door 
of  which  is  closed  and  locked,  and  to  gain  an  entrance 
one  must  have  the  key.  But  alas !  where  is  the  key  ?" 

"What  key?"  asked  Hannah  wonderingly. 

"The  key  that  will  unlock  the  door  of  the  hidden 
chamber  of  that  beautiful  piece  of  pink  and  white 
flesh  that  you  boast  you  own.  Do  you  possess  it  ?  And 
if  so,  have  you  unlocked  the  door  and  swept  from 
within  all  that  will  prevent  a  life  from  being  well 
lived?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Hannah  in  amazement. 

"I  mean  this :  to  fulfill  your  maternal  obligations  you 
must  have  this  key." 

"Key,  or  no  key,"  replied  Hannah  impatiently,  "I 
shall  do  my  best  for  him." 

"But  if  you  know  not  what  is  best,  how  can  you  ?" 

"Then  I  shall  do  what  seems  best." 

"And  which  really  may  be  wrong." 

"Then  what  am  I  to  do?"  asked  Hannah  helplessly, 

"Find  the  key." 

"What  makes  you  so  sure  that  I  haven't  it?" 


Frank  Leaves  the  Hospital  of  the  New  Birth    289 

"Your  all  too  evident  uncertainty,"  replied  Frank, 
rising  and  walking  over  to  the  couch  where  Ronald 
slept.  "That  is,  like  all  mothers,  you  are  not  altogether 
sure  what  is  best  for  your  child,"  and  the  tender  love 
liness  of  his  face  as  he  looked  down  upon  her  boy 
would  have  been  a  revelation  to  Hannah,  could  she 
but  have  seen  it. 

"That  is,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  admitted  Hannah, 
"only  too  true.  But  what  are  we  mothers  to  do  to  be 
wholly  sure  that  what  we  do  is  best  for  our  children  ? 
Find  the  key,  you  say,  but  where  are  we  to  look?" 

"You  must  seek  it  where  it  is  only  to  be  found,  in 
the  Hospital  of  The  New  Birth,"  replied  Frank,  turn 
ing  around  and  facing  her. 

"Then  I  would  be  committing  a  great  wrong  to  my 
boy,  should  I  longer  delay,"  said  Hannah,  her  eyes 
leaving  him  and,  with  a  wonderful  affection  expressed 
in  their  blue-gray  depths,  they  rested  upon  her  child. 

"You  would  be  depriving  him  of  his  rightful  inheri 
tance,"  said  Frank,  approaching  her  slowly. 

"It  is  hard  to  leave  him,  even  though  I  know  he 
could  be  in  no  better  hands  than  in  those  who  have 
made  the  'home-living  place'  possible."  said  Hannah 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"But.  if  he  is  to  enter  into  the  joy  of  the  'home- 


290  The  Success  of  Failure 

living  place,'  your  leaving  him  is  an  absolute  necessity. 
If  he  is  to  see  its  beauties  and  understand  its  wonder 
ful  workings,  the  knowledge  you  impart  to  him  must 
be  greater  than  you  now  possess,"  said  Frank  with 
great  earnestness.  "Why,  then,  do  you  hesitate?" 

"I  shall  not/'  replied  Hannah,  rising  determinedly  to 
her  feet.  "I  shall  ask  the  doctor  to  see  that  I  am 
admitted  at  their  earliest  convenience." 

"Which  is  whenever  you  are  ready,"  said  the  doctor 
from  the  doorway.  He  had  been  standing  there  un 
observed  listening  to  their  conversation. 

"Then  I  shall  arrange  to  go  tomorrow." 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  doctor  coming  toward  them. 
"I  shall  take  you  over  and  see  that  you  are  admitted." 
Then,  laying  a  hand  in  a  true  brotherly  fashion  upon 
Frank's  arm,  he  said  to  him:  "You  lost  no  time,  I  see, 
in  seeking  and  securing  a  patient." 

"Nor  will  she  when  she  returns,"  replied  Frank, 
smiling  knowingly  at  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

FRANK   AGAIN    VISITS    THE    SHACK 

WITH  the  coming  of  the  morrow,  Frank's  heart 
burned  to  again  visit  the  shack.  This  time  he 
was  going  with  a  decidedly  different  purpose,  for  now 
no  thought  of  self-destruction  possessed  him.  Indeed, 
such  a  thought  was  not  now  possible,  for  within  him 
dwelt  the  realization  of  a  non-destroyable  life.  Nor  did 
he  wait  until  the  evening,  but  went  in  the  morning 
light  of  a  perfect  day.  Once  more  his  feet  trod  the 
road  leading  to  the  little  pathway  that  led  to  the  door 
of  the  shack.  Reverently  and  stepping  very  softly  he 
turned  in  at  the  gate  and  walked  up  the  path.  Then, 
taking  the  key  from  his  pocket,  he  unlocked  the  door 
and  gently  pushed  k  open.  Standing  thoughtfully 
within,  he  looked  around  the  room,  surveying  each 
object  with  unaccustomed  interest.  He  then  removed 
his  hat  and  coat  and  hung  them  up  on  the  same  rack 
that  had  held  his  rain-soaked  hat  and  coat  some  time 
before.  Without  closing  the  door,  he  seated  himself 

where  he  could  get  a  good  view  of  the  road  and  waited. 

291 


292  The  Success  of  Failure 

That  she  would  come,  he  knew,  for  had  she  not  told 
him  that  he  would  see  her  again,  and  he  should  then 
decide  her  name. 

As  he  sat  there  waiting,  there  came  from  the  dis 
tance  the  triumphant  strains  of  a  far-away  music.  At 
first  it  seemed  like  the  gentle  whisperings  of  the  leaves 
as  they  swayed  lazily  back  and  forth  upon  their 
branches.  Then  it  came  nearer,  and  nearer,  and  he 
recognized  in  it  the  innumerable  sounds  of  the  many 
instruments  at  work  in  the  world. 

"Ah !  but  this  was  a  different  music  from  that  which 
hitherto  had  fallen  upon  his  ears.  In  it  there  was  no 
discordant  note,  nor  the  jumbling  of  non-preconceived 
sounds,  murmuring  or  loudly  proclaiming  in  their  irri 
tation  a  confliction  of  tones.  Ah,  no!  this  was  music. 
What  blending  of  tones !  How  strong  and  yet  so 
tender!  How  forceful  and  yet  so  kind!  What  sub 
limity  of  utterance!  What  height,  what  depth,  what 
breadth !  What  vastness  and  fullness !  and,  yet,  in 
all  not  a  quivering  note.  It  seemed  as  though  every 
tree,  leaf  and  flower,  every  tiny  green  blade  of  grass, 
every  little  root  and  shrub,  responded  to  this  matchless 
volume  of  sound, 

Frank  closed  his  eyes  and  gave  himself  wholly  up 
to  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  this  wonderful  and  all- 


Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack  293 

inspiring  music.  Indeed,  so  enrapt  was  he  by  the  tale 
that  it  told,  that  he  was  unmindful  of  a  gentle  step 
outside  and  of  the  tall,  slender  form  that  later  stood  in 
the  doorway ;  nor  did  he  hear  a  voice  that  said :  "Hear 
am  I,  my  friend."  And  it  was  not  until  the  music 
passed  on  and  was  gradually  lost  in  the  distance  that 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  that  his  expected  guest 
had  arrived. 

With  a  smothered  exclamation,  he  quickly  arose  and 
came  forward. 

"Pardon,"  he  said,  "my  seeming  indifference  to  your 
presence.  Have  you  been  here  long?'' 

"No  apology  is  necessary,"  she  replied,  smiling 
sweetly  and  giving  him  her  hand.  "That  music  you 
have  been  listening  to,"  sitting  down  in  the  chair  he 
placed  for  her,  "is  enough  to  absorb  the  whole  atten 
tion  of  man.  And  now  sit  down,  my  friend,"  urged 
she,  "and  tell  me  how  you  are." 

"Surely,  that  is  not  necessary,"  he  replied,  throwing 
back  his  head  with  a  happy  laugh,  "when  my  whole 
being  speaks  for  me." 

'That  is  true.    You  are,  I  see,  in  perfect  health." 

"And  you?"  asked  Frank  solicitously,  drawing  his 
chair  nearer  to  hers  and  sitting  down. 

"Mv  health  can  never  be  better  nor  worse  than  that 


294  The  Success  of  Failure 

of  mankind's,"  replied  she,  regarding  him  intently  with 
her  large,  brown  eyes,  "and  their  joys  and  sorrows 
must  be  alike  mine/' 

"Ah !  if  I  had  but  known  and  understood  that,"  re 
plied  Frank  with  a  mournful  shake  of  his  head,  "all 
your  days  would  have  been  healthful  and  joyous  ones." 

"So  would  they  be,  if  all  understood,  but  they  do 
not.  And,  if  you  would  have  all  my  days  healthful 
and  happy  ones,  you  must  make  them  understand." 

"I  will." 

"And  you  will  teach  them  my  name  ?" 

"Indeed,  I  will,  for  do  I  not  know  it?" 

"Then  it  will  be  well  with  you." 

"It  is  well  with  me  now." 

"And  will  be  forevermore." 

"Yes,"  and  Frank's  voice  lingered  tenderly  upon 
each  word,  "for  how  can  it  be  otherwise,  when  Love, 
Service  and  Success  await  me  in  the  'home-living 
place.' " 

"That  is  true,"  replied  she  quietly.  "No  greater 
honor  can  be  bestowed  upon  man  than  that  of  being 
a  co-worker  with  them.  And  to  live  with  them  is 
well  worth  while.  Do  you  not  believe  so?"  and  a 
tender  light  filled  her  face. 

"Indeed,  I  do — in  fact,  I  know  so." 


Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack  295 

"Then  you  no  longer  consider  yourself  a  failure?" 

"No,"  replied  Frank  decidedly,  "I  am  what  I  was 
created  to  be,  a  success." 

"I  am  glad  to  know,"  said  she  smiling  broadly,  "that 
my  enforced  companionship  did  not  prevent  you  from 
finding  the  road  to  success." 

"Oh  no,  it  taught  me  that  success  or  failure  was 
not  to  be  determined  by  accident  nor  the  possession  or 
non-possession  of  earthly  properties,  but  rather  in  the 
losing  of  man's  self  and  the  finding  of  himself  and  in 
his  obedience  to  the  ruling  of  that  finding." 

"You  have,  then,  come  into  your  kingdom,"  said  she, 
"and  need  fear  no  man." 

"And  no  man,  I  am  glad  to  say,"  added  he,  "need 
fear  me." 

"No,  because  you  know  the  true  relationship  exist 
ing  between  you  and  your  brother-man." 

"Yes,  and  would  that  all  knew  it  as  I  do,"  said  he 
fervently. 

"They  will,  in  time,  never  fear,"  replied  she  en 
couragingly. 

"Yes,  but  how  many  must  suffer  through  the  long 
years  of  waiting,"  replied  Frank  sadly. 

"That  is  so,"  agreed  she ;  "but  the  union  which  has 
taken  place  between  Love  and  Service  will  greatly 


296  The  Success  of  Failure 

lessen  the  time.  True,  there  are  many  hard  and  bitter 
lessons  for  Service  to  learn;  but,  fortunately  for  the 
children  of  men,  she  has  in  her  husband  a  teacher  who 
is  invincible  and  never  makes  a  mistake." 

"Indeed,  he  does  not,"  heartily  acquiesced  Frank; 
"but  it  took  a  treatment  at  the  Hospital  of  The  New 
Birth  to  teach  me  that." 

"And  not  to  teach  you,  only,"  replied  she  gazing 
wistfully  through  the  open  door  and  off  into  the 
wooded  distance,  "but  all  mankind." 

"If  one  would  succeed,  yes,"  agreed  Frank. 

"To  possess  such  knowledge,  you  are  wonderfully 
blessed,"  said  she,  withdrawing  her  eyes  and  turning 
them  upon  him  with  a  serious  smile.  "But  I  must 
not  tarry,"  and  she  rose  from  her  chair. 

"Shall  I  not  see  you  again?"  anxiously  inquired 
Frank,  getting  quickly  to  his  feet. 

"Indeed,  you  shall,"  replied  she,  a  beautiful  smile 
lightening  up  her  grave  face,  "for  now  you  will  not 
shun  my  society  nor  call  me  by  a  name  that  is  not 
mine ;  and  well  will  you  know  that  the  way  man  calls 
the  way  of  failure  is  oft-times  the  way  of  success,  and 
that  the  way  he  calls  by  my  name  is  not  mine  at  all. 
but  is  the  way  of  lies,  wherein  the  seed  of  deception  is 
sown.  And  of  all  ways  this  is  the  most  disappointing. 


Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack  297 

The  sower  sows  the  seed,  and  then  eagerly  awaits 
the  appearance  of  the  first  tiny  green  leaf.  Then  with 
tender  solicitude  he  watches  carefully  the  continuance 
of  its  growth,  anticipating  its  every  demand  and  be 
stowing  upon  it  every  attention  that  it  may  grow 
quickly,  and  he  spurns  no  suggestion  that  will  enhance 
its  beauty  and  hasten  its  growth.  Indeed,  not  a  thing 
is  left  undone  that  will  produce  a  fruitful  tree.  In  due 
season,  the  fruit  appears,  and  the  proud  possessor  calls 
in  his  neighbors  to  witness  the  result  of  his  efforts. 
They  outwardly  rejoice  with  him,  even  though  they 
may  inwardly  envy  what  they  call  'his  good  luck.' 
But,  in  truth,  it  is  not  good  luck  that  has  produced  this 
tree ;  its  growth  has  been  watched  with  unceasing  care 
and  nourished  at  great  cost.  For  its  luscious  and  most 
to  be  desired  appearing  fruit,  man  has  paid  a  big 
price ;  and  although  he  may  proudly  point  to  it  as  the 
proof  of  his  success,  at  its  heart,  crumpled  up  and 
lying  useless,  are  the  forms  of  men — failures  all,  but 
failures  due  to  the  growth  of  this  tree." 

Frank  sighed  deeply  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

"Don't  sigh,  my  friend/'  said  she,  laying  a  hand  pro- 
testingly  upon  his  arm  as  she  joined  him  in  the  door 
way,  "for  unto  you  is  given  the  work  of  planting  a 
different  tree ;  and  this  will  be  a  tree,  indeed,  the  fruit 


298  The  Success  of  Failure 

whereof  one  might  well  be  proud.  Although  it  will 
boast  of  no  particular  owner,  its  growth  will  be  fos 
tered  by  infinite  care  and  tender  reverence,  and  of  its 
fruits  all  may  partake — yea,  even  down  to  old  age. 
But  now  I  must  leave  you,"  and  removing  her  hand 
from  his  arm  she  stepped  down  to  the  little  path  and, 
followed  silently  by  Frank,  walked  to  the  gate.  Then 
she  stopped  and,  turning  around,  held  out  her  hand. 

"Goodby,  my  friend,  until  I  shall  see  you  again,"  said 
she.  "Take  back  with  you  to  my  friends,  Love  and 
Service,  my  fondest  greetings  and  tell  them  you  have 
seen  and  talked  with  me  and  that  my  name  is — "  and 
she  stopped  and  her  dark-brown  eyes  met  Frank's  in 
quiringly. 

"Success,"  he  unhesitatingly  replied. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  she,  her  eyes  shining.  "Now 
farewell,"  and  passing  through  the  gate  she  walked 
with  firm  and  assured  step  to  the  road,  when  she  turned 
and  with  her  hand  waved  a  mute  farewell  to  the  silent 
figure  standing  at  the  gate. 

Frank  stepped  out  into  the  roadway;  and,  as  he 
watched  the  tall,  slender,  erect  form  as  it  moved  along 
with  certain  step,  he  saw,  what  he  had  hitherto  failed 
to  see,  wondrously  colored  rays  of  light  that  enveloped 
her  in  a  glorious  mist.  At  last  she  passed  out  of 


Frank  Again  Visits  the  Shack  299 

sight,  and  Frank  with  thoughtful  face  returned  to  the 
shack.  Then  he  immediately  put  on  his  hat  and  coat 
and  came  out  and  locked  the  door,  and  with  a  song 
on  his  lips,  not  yet  sung  by  the  world,  he  began  his 
journey  back  to  the  "home-living  place,"  to  Love  and  to 
Service. 

THE  END. 


M12O3O2 


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